The  Way  of  an  Indian 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 


"Pretty  Mother  of  the  Night — White   Otter  is  no  longer 

a   boy." 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 


Written  and   Illustrated 
by 

FREDERIC    REMINGTON 

Author  of 

"Men  With  the  Bark  On" 
"Crooked  Trails"  &c. 


New  York 

Fox   Duffield   Gf  Company 
1906 


Copyright,   1906,  by 
Fox  Duffield  &  Company 

Published,   February,    1906 


THE    TROW    PRESS,    N.    Y. 


Contents 

Page 

I      White  Otter's  Own   Shadow  9 

II      The  Brown   Bat  Proves   Itself  3 1 

III  The      Bat      Devises      Mischief 

Among  the  Yellow-Eyes  61 

IV  The  New  Lodge  95 
V     The  Kites  and  the   Crows  1 1 7 

VI     The    Fire-Eater's    Bad    Medi 
cine  153 

VII      Among  the   Pony-Soldiers  191 

VIII      The    Medicine    Fight    of   the 

Chis-Chis-Chash  225 


283479 


List  of  Illustrations 

"Pretty    Mother   of  the    Night — White 

Otter  is  no  longer  a  boy  "        Frontispiece 

"  He  looked  on  the  land  of  his  people  and  Facins 

J  l       r  page 

he  hated  all  vehemently"  16 

"  "The  wolves  sniffed  along  on  the  trail, 

but  came  no  nearer"  20 

"  O    gray    wolf  of  my    clan,   shall  we 

have  fortune  ?  "  42 

"  The  interpreter  waved  at  the  naked 
youth,  sitting  there  on  his  war- 
pony"  8o 

"/  will  tell  the  white  man  how  he  can 

have  his  ponies  back"  92 

"Nothing    but    cheerful    looks   followed 

the  Eat"  I04 


List  of  Illustrations 

Facing 
Page 

"The  ceremony  of  the  Fastest  Horse"      114 

"  He  rushed  the  pony  right  to  the  bar 
ricade"  140 

"  The  Fire  Rater  slung  his  victim  across 

his  pony,  taking  his  scalp"  150 

"  The  Fire  Rater  raised  his  arms  to  the 

Thunder  Bird"  1*72 

"  The  rushing  Red  Lodges  passed  through 

the  line  of  the  blue  soldiers"  216 

"  He  made  his  magazine  gun  blaze  until 

empty"  238 

"  He  shouted  his  harsh  pathos  at  a  <wild 
and  lonely  wind,  but  there  'was  no 
response "  244 


I 

White   Otter  s   Own   Shadow 


The  MS  ay  of  an  Indian 


H^hite    Otterj^   Own   Shadow 

TT7HITE  OTTER'S  heart  was 
^  ^  bad.  He  sat  alone  on  the 
rim-rocks  of  the  bluffs  overlooking 
the  sunlit  valley.  To  an  unaccus 
tomed  eye  from  below  he  might 
have  been  a  part  of  nature's  freaks 
among  the  sand  rocks.  The  yellow 
grass  sloped  away  from  his  feet  mile 
after  mile  to  the  timber,  and  beyond 
that  to  the  prismatic  mountains. 
The  variegated  lodges  of  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  village  dotted  the  plain 
near  the  sparse  woods  of  the  creek- 
bottom  ;  pony  herds  stood  quietly 

waving  their  tails  against  the  flies  or 

n 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

were  driven  hither  and  yon  by  the 
herdboys — giving  variety  to  the  tre 
mendous  sweep  of  the  Western  land 
scape. 

This  was  a  day  of  peace — such  as 
comes  only  to  the  Indians  in  con 
trast  to  the  fierce  troubles  which 
nature  stores  up  for  the  other  inter 
vals.  The  enemy,  the  pinch  of  the 
shivering  famine,  and  the  Bad  Gods 
were  absent,  for  none  of  these  things 
care  to  show  themselves  in  the  white 
light  of  a  midsummer's  day.  There 
was  peace  with  all  the  world  except 
with  him.  He  was  in  a  fierce  de 
jection  over  the  things  which  had 
come  to  him,  or  those  which  had 
passed  him  by.  He  was  a  boy — 
a  fine-looking,  skillfully  modeled 
youth — as  beautiful  a  thing,  doubt- 


12 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

less,  as  God  ever  created  in  His  sense 
of  form ;  better  than  his  sisters,  bet 
ter  than  the  four-foots,  or  the  fishes, 
or  the  birds,  and  he  meant  so  much 
more  than  the  inanimate  things,  in 
so  far  as  we  can  see.  He  had  the 
body  given  to  him  and  he  wanted  to 
keep  it,  but  there  were  the  myste 
rious  demons  of  the  darkness,  the 
wind  and  the  flames;  there  were 
the  monsters  from  the  shadows,  and 
from  under  the  waters;  there  were 
the  machinations  of  his  enemies, 
which  he  was  not  proof  against 
alone,  and  there  was  yet  the  strong 
hand  of  the  Good  God,  which  had 
not  been  offered  as  yet  to  help  him 
on  with  the  simple  things  of  life; 
the  women,  the  beasts  of  the.  fields, 
the  ponies  and  the  war-bands.  He 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

could  not  even  protect  his  own  shad 
ow,  which  was  his  other  and  higher 
self. 

His  eyes  dropped  on  the  grass  in 
front  of  his  moccasins — tiny  dried 
blades  of  yellow  grass,  and  under 
neath  them  he  saw  the  dark  traceries 
of  their  shadows.  Each  had  its  own 
little  shadow — its  soul — its  change 
able  thing — its  other  life — just  as  he 
himself  was  cut  blue-black  beside 
himself  on  the  sandstone.  There 
were  millions  of  these  grass-blades, 
and  each  one  shivered  in  the  wind, 
maundering  to  itself  in  the  chorus, 
which  made  the  prairie  sigh,  and  all 
for  fear  of  a  big  brown  buffalo  wan 
dering  by,  which  would  bite  them 
from  the  earth  and  destroy  them. 

White  Otter's  people  had  been 
H 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

strong  warriors  in  the  Chis-chis- 
chash;  his  father's  shirt  and  leggins 
were  black  at  the  seams  with  the 
hair  of  other  tribes.  He,  too,  had 
stolen  ponies,  but  had  done  no  better 
than  that  thus  far,  while  he  burned 
to  keep  the  wolf-totem  red  with 
honor.  Only  last  night,  a  few  of 
his  boy  companions,  some  even 
younger  than  himself,  had  gone 
away  to  the  Absaroke  for  glory  and 
scalps,  and  ponies  and  women — a 
war-party — the  one  thing  to  which 
an  Indian  pulsed  with  his  last  drop. 
He  had  thought  to  go  also,  but 
his  father  had  discouraged  him,  and 
yesterday  presented  him  with  char 
coal  ashes  in  his  right  hand,  and  two 
juicy  buffalo  ribs  with  his  left.  He 
had  taken  the  charcoal.  His  father 

15 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

said  it  was  good — that  it  was  not 
well  for  a  young  man  to  go  to  the 
enemy  with  his  shadow  uncovered 
before  the  Bad  Gods. 

Now  his  spirits  raged  within  his 
tightened  belly,  and  the  fierce  Indian 
brooding  had  driven  him  to  the  rim- 
rock,  where  his  soul  rocked  and 
pounced  within  him.  He  looked 
at  the  land  of  his  people,  and  he 
hated  all  vehemently,  with  a  rage 
that  nothing  stayed  but  his  physical 
strength. 

Old  Big  Hair,  his  father,  sitting 
in  the  shade  of  his  tepee,  looked  out 
across  at  his  son  on  the  far-off  sky 
line,  and  he  hid  his  head  in  his 
blanket  as  he  gazed  into  his  medi 
cine-pouch.  "Keep  the  enemy  and 

the  Bad  Gods  from  my  boy;   he  has 

16 


White   Otter  s   Own   Shadow 

no  one  to  protect  him  but  you,  my 
medicine." 

Thus  hour  after  hour  there  sat  the 
motionless  tyro,  alone  with  his  own 
shadow  on  the  hill.  The  shades  of 
all  living  nature  grew  great  and 
greater  with  the  declining  sun.  The 
young  man  saw  it  with  satisfaction. 
His  heart  swelled  with  brave  thoughts, 
as  his  own  extended  itself  down  the 
hillside — now  twenty  feet  long — now 
sixty — until  the  western  sun  was  cut 
by  the  bluffs,  when  it  went  out 
altogether.  The  shadow  of  White 
Otter  had  been  eaten  up  by  the 
shadow  of  the  hill.  He  knew  now 
that  he  must  go  to  the  westward 
— to  the  western  mountains,  to  the 
Inyan-kara,  where  in  the  deep  recesses 
lay  the  shadows  which  had  eaten 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

his.  They  were  calling  him,  and  as 
the  sun  sank  to  rest.  White  Otter 
rose  slowly,  drew  his  robe  around 
him,  and  walked  away  from  the 
Chis-chis-chash  camp. 

{ The  split  sticks  in  Big  Hair's 
lodge  snapped  and  spit  gleams  of 
light  on  the  old  warrior  as  he  lay 
back  on  his  resting-mat.  He  was  talk 
ing  to  his  sacred  symbols.  "Though 
he  sleeps  very  far  off*,  though  he 
sleeps  even  on  the  other  side,  a 
spirit  is  what  I  use  to  keep  him. 
Make  the  bellies  of  animals  full 
which  would  seek  my  son ;  make 
the  wolf  and  the  bear  and  the  pan 
ther  go  out  of  their  way.  Make 
the  buffalo  herds  to  split  around 
my  son,  Good  God  !  Be  strong  to 
keep  the  Bad  God  back,  and  all  his 

18 


White  Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

demons — lull  them  to  sleep  while  he 
passes  ;  lull  them  with  soft  sounds." 

And  the  Indian  began  a  dolor 
ous  chanting,  which  he  continued 
throughout  the  night.  The  lodge- 
fires  died  down  in  the  camp,  but 
the  muffled  intone  came  in  a  hol 
low  sound  from  the  interior  of  the 
tepee  until  the  spirit  of  silence  was 
made  more  sure,  and  sleep  came 
over  the  bad  and  good  together. 

Across  the  gray-greens  of  the 
moonlit  plains  bobbed  and  flitted 
the  dim  form  of  the  seeker  of  God's 
help. 

Now  among  the  dark  shadows  of 
the  pines,  now  in  the  gray  sage 
brush,  lost  in  the  coulees,  but  cease 
lessly  on  and  on,  wound  this  figure 
of  the  night.  The  wolves  sniffed 

19 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

along  on  the  trail,  but  came  no 
nearer. 

All  night  long  he  pursued  his 
way,  his  muscles  playing  tirelessly 
to  the  demands  of  a  mind  as  taut 
as  bowstring. 

Before  the  morning  he  had  reached 
the  Inyan-kara,  a  sacred  place,  and 
begun  to  ascend  its  pine-clad  slopes. 
It  had  repulsion  for  White  Otter,  it 
was  sacred — full  of  strange  beings 
not  to  be  approached  except  in  the 
spiritual  way,  which  was  his  on  this 
occasion,  and  thus  he  approached  it. 
To  this  place  the  shadows  had  re 
tired,  and  he  was  pursuing  them. 
He  was  in  mortal  terror — every  tree 
spoke  out  loud  to  him;  the  dark 
places  gave  back  groans,  the  night- 
winds  swooped  upon  him,  whisper- 

20 


r 


White  Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

ing  their  terrible  fears.  The  great 
underground  wildcat  meowed  from 
the  slopes,  the  red-winged  moon- 
birds  shrilled  across  the  sky,  and 
the  stone  giants  from  the  cliffs 
rocked  and  sounded  back  to  White 
Otter,  until  he  cried  aloud  : 

"  O  Good  God,  come  help  me. 
I  am  White  Otter.  All  the  bad 
are  thick  around  me ;  they  have 
stolen  my  shadow ;  now  they  will 
take  me,  and  I  shall  never  go  across 
to  live  in  the  shadow-land.  Come 
to  White  Otter,  O  Good  God!" 

A  little  brown  bat  whirled  round 
and  round  the  head  of  the  terror- 
stricken  Indian,  saying:  "I  am  from 
God,  White  Otter.  I  am  come  to 
you  direct  from  God.  I  will  take 
care  of  you.  I  have  your  shadow 

21 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

under  my  wings.  I  can  fly  so  fast 
and  crooked  that  no  one  can  catch 
up  with  me.  No  arrow  can  catch 
me,  no  bullet  can  find  me,  in  my 
tricky  flight.  I  have  your  shadow 
and  I  will  fly  about  so  fast  that 
the  spirit-wildcats  and  the  spirit- 
birds  and  the  stone  giants  cannot 
come  up  with  me  or  your  shadow, 
which  I  carry  under  my  wings.  Sit 
down  here  in  the  dark  place  under 
the  cliffs  and  rest.  Have  no  fear." 
White  Otter  sat  him  down  as 
directed,  muffled  in  his  robe.  "Keep 
me  safe,  do  not  go  away  from  me, 
ye  little  brown  bat.  I  vow  to  keep 
you  all  my  life,  and  to  take  you 
into  the  shadow-land  hereafter,  if  ye 
will  keep  me  from  the  demons  now, 
O  little  brown  bat  I "  And  so  pray- 


22 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

ing,  he  saw  the  sky  pale  in  the  east 
as  he  lay  down  to  sleep.  Then  he 
looked  all  around  for  his  little  brown 
bat,  which  was  no  more  to  be  seen. 

The  daylight  brought  quiescence 
to  the  fasting  man,  and  he  sank 
back,  blinking  his  hollow  eyes  at 
his  shadow  beside  him.  Its  posses 
sion  lulled  him,  and  he  paid  the 
debt  of  nature,  lying  quietly  for  a 
long  time. 

Consciousness  returned  slowly. 
The  hot  sun  beat  on  the  fevered 
man,  and  he  moved  uneasily.  To 
his  ears  came  the  far-away  beat  of  a 
tom-tom,  growing  nearer  and  nearer 
until  it  mixed  with  the  sound  of 
bells  and  the  hail-like  rattle  of 
gourds.  Soon  he  heard  the  break 
ing  of  sticks  under  the  feet  of  ap- 

23 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

preaching  men,  and  from  under  the 
pines  a  long  procession  of  men  ap 
peared — but  they  were  shadows,  like 
water,  and  he  could  see  the  land 
scape  beyond  them.  They  were 
spirit-men.  He  did  not  stir.  The 
moving  retinue  came  up,  breaking 
now  into  the  slow  side-step  of  the 
ghost-dance,  and  around  the  form  of 
White  Otter  gathered  these  people 
of  the  other  world.  They  danced 
"  the  Crazy  Dance v  and  sang,  but 
the  dull  orbs  of  the  faster  gave  no 
signs  of  interest. 

"He-eye,  he-eye!  we  have  come 
for  you — come  to  take  you  to  the 
shadow-land.  You  will  live  on  a 
rocky  island,  where  there  are  no 
ponies,  no  women,  no  food,  White 

Otter.      You  have  no  medicine,  and 

24 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

the  Good  God  will  not  protect  you. 
We  have  come  for  you — hi-ya,  hi- 
ya,  hi-yah ! '' 

"  I  have  a  medicine,"  replied 
White  Otter.  "I  have  the  little 
brown  bat  which  came  from  God." 

"  He-eye,  he-eye !  Where  is  your 
little  brown  bat?  You  do  not  speak 
the  truth — you  have  no  little  brown 
bat  from  God.  Come  with  us.  White 
Otter."  With  this,  one  of  the  spirit- 
men  strode  forward  and  seized  White 
Otter,  who  sprang  to  his  feet  to  grap 
ple  with  him.  They  clinched  and 
strained  for  the  mastery,  White  Otter 
and  the  camp-soldier  of  the  spirit- 
people. 

"  Come  to  me,  little  brown  bat," 
shouted  the  resisting  savage,  but  the 
ghostly  crowd  yelled,  "  Your  little 


The  Way  of  an   Indian 

brown    bat   will   not   come   to   you, 
White  Otter." 

Still  he  fought  successfully  with 
the  spirit-soldier.  He  strained  and 
twisted,  now  felling  the  ghost,  now 
being  felled  in  turn,  but  they  stag 
gered  again  to  their  feet.  Neither 
was  able  to  conquer.  Hour  after 
hour  he  resisted  the  taking  of  his 
body  from  off  the  earth  to  be  depos 
ited  on  the  inglorious  desert  island 
in  the  shadow-land.  At  times  he 
grew  exhausted  and  seemed  to  lie* 
still  under  the  spirit's  clutches,  but 
reviving,  continued  the  struggle  with 
what  energy  he  could  summon.  The 
westering  sun  began  lengthening  the 
shadows  on  the  Inyan-kara,  and  with 
the  cool  of  evening  his  strength  be 
gan  to  revive.  Now  he  fought  the 

26 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

ghost  with  renewed  spirit,  calling 
from  time  to  time  on  his  medicine- 
bat,  till  at  last  when  all  the  shadows 
had  merged  and  gone  together,  with 
a  whir  came  the  little  brown  bat, 
crying  "  Na-hoin"  [I  come]. 

Suddenly  all  the  ghost-people  flew 
away,  scattering  over  the  Inyan-kara, 
screaming,    "  Hoho,    hoho,    hoho ! ' 
and  White  Otter  sat  up  on  his  robe. 

The  stone  giants  echoed  in  clatter 
ing  chorus,  the  spirit-birds  swished 
through  the  air  with  a  whis-s-s- 
tling  noise,  and  the  whole  of  the 
bad  demons  came  back  to  prowl, 
since  the  light  had  left  the  world, 
and  they  were  no  longer  afraid. 
They  all  sought  to  circumvent  the 
poor  Indian,  but  the  little  brown  bat 

circled  around  and  around  his  head, 

27 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

and  he  kept  saying:  "Come  to  me, 
little  brown  bat.  Let  White  Otter 
put  his  hand  on  you;  come  to  my 
hand." 

But  the  bat  said  nothing,  though 
it  continued  to  fly  around  his  head. 
He  waved  his  arms  widely  at  it,  try 
ing  to  reach  it.  With  a  fortunate 
sweep  it  struck  his  hand,  his  fingers 
clutched  around  it,  and  as  he  drew 
back  his  arm  he  found  his  little 
brown  bat  dead  in  the  vise-like  grip. 
White  Otter's  medicine  had  come  to 
him. 

Folding  himself  in  his  robe,  and 
still  grasping  the  symbol  of  the  Good 
God's  protection,  he  lay  down  to 
sleep.  The  stone  giants  ceased  their 
clamors,  and  all  the  world  grew  still. 
White  Otter  was  sleeping. 

28 


White   Otter  s   Own  Shadow 

In  his  dreams  came  the  voice  of 
God,  saying:  "I  have  given  it,  given 
you  the  little  brown  bat.  Wear  it 
always  on  your  scalp-lock,  and  never 
let  it  away  from  you  for  a  moment. 
Talk  to  it,  ask  of  it  all  manner  of 
questions,  tell  it  the  secrets  of  your 
shadow-self,  and  it  will  take  you 
through  battle  so  fast  that  no  arrow 
or  bullet  can  hit  you.  It  will  steal 
you  away  from  the  spirits  which 
haunt  the  night.  It  will  whisper 
to  you  concerning  the  intentions  of 
the  women,  and  your  enemies,  and 
it  will  make  you  wise  in  the  council 
when  you  are  older.  If  you  adhere 
to  it  and  follow  its  dictation,  it  will 
give  you  the  white  hair  of  old  age 
on  this  earth,  and  bring  you  to  the 

shadow-land  when  your  turn  comes." 

29 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

The  next  day,  when  the  sun  had 
come  again.  White  Otter  walked 
down  the  mountain,  and  at  the  foot 
met  his  father  with  ponies  and  buf 
falo  meat.  The  old  man  had  fol 
lowed  on  his  trail,  but  had  gone  no 
farther. 

"I  am  strong  now,  father.  I  can 
protect  my  body  and  my  shadow — 
the  Good  God  has  come  to  Wo-pe- 


ni-in." 


3o 


II 

The  Brown   Eat   Proves  Itself 


II 

The   Brown   Bat   Proves   Itself 

T3IG  HAIR  and  his  son,  White 
^  Otter,  rode  home  slowly,  back 
through  the  coulees  and  the  pines 
and  the  sage-brush  to  the  camp  of 
the  Chis-chis-chash.  The  squaws 
took  their  ponies  when  they  came 
to  their  lodge. 

Days  of  listless  longing  followed 
the  journey  to  the  Inyan-kara  in 
search  of  the  offices  of  the  Good 
God,  and  the  worn  body  and  fevered 
mind  of  White  Otter  recovered  their 
normal  placidity.  The  red  warrior 
on  his  resting-mat  sinks  in  a  tor 
por  which  a  sunning  mud-turtle  on 

33 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

a  log  only  hopes  to  attain,  but  he 
stores  up  energy,  which  must  sooner 
or  later  find  expression  in  the  most 
extended  physical  effort. 

Thus  during  the  days  did  White 
Otter  eat  and  sleep,  or  lie  under  the 
cottonwoods  by  the  creek  with  his 
chum,  the  boy  Red  Arrow — lying 
together  on  the  same  robe  and 
dreaming  as  boys  will,  and  talking 
also,  as  is  the  wont  of  youth,  about 
the  things  which  make  a  man.  They 
both  had  their  medicine — they  were 
good  hunters,  whom  the  camp  sol 
diers  allowed  to  accompany  the  parties 
in  the  buffalo-surround.  They  both 
had  a  few  ponies,  which  they  had 
stolen  from  the  Absaroke  hunters 
the  preceding  autumn,  and  which 
had  given  them  a  certain  boyish 

34 


\ 
The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

distinction  in  the  camp.  But  their 
eager  minds  yearned  for  the  time 
to  come  when  they  should  do  the 
deed  which  would  allow  them  to 
pass  from  the  boy  to  the  warrior 
stage,  before  which  the  Indian  is  in 
embryo. 

Betaking  themselves  oft  to  deserted 
places,  they  each  consulted  his  own 
medicine.  White  Otter  had  skinned 
and  dried  and  tanned  the  skin  of 
the  little  brown  bat,  and  covered  it 
with  gaudy  porcupine  decorations. 
This  he  had  tied  to  his  carefully  cul 
tivated  scalp-lock,  where  it  switched 
in  the  passing  breeze.  People  in 
the  camp  were  beginning  to  say 
"the  little  brown  bat  boy'!  as  he 
passed  them  by. 

But  their  medicine  conformed  to 
35 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

their  wishes,  as  an  Indian's  medicine 
mostly  has  to  do,  so  that  they  were 
promised  success  in  their  undertaking. 

Old  Big  Hair,  who  sat  blinking, 
knew  that  the  inevitable  was  going 
to  happen,  but  he  said  no  word. 
He  did  not  advise  or  admonish. 
He  doted  on  his  son,  and  did  not 
want  him  killed,  but  that  was  better 
than  no  eagle-plume, 

Still  the  boys  did  not  consult 
their  relatives  in  the  matter,  but  on 
the  appointed  evening  neither  turned 
up  at  the  ancestral  tepee,  and  Big 
Hair  knew  that  his  son  had  gone  out 
into  the  world  to  win  his  feather. 
Again  he  consulted  the  medicine- 
pouch  and  sang  dolorously  to  lull 
the  spirits  of  the  night  as  his  boy 
passed  him  on  his  war-trail. 

36 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

Having  traveled  over  the  table 
land  and  through  the  pines  for  a 
few  miles,  White  Otter  stopped, 
saying :  "  Let  us  rest  here.  My 
medicine  says  not  to  go  farther,  as 
there  is  danger  ahead.  The  demons 
of  the  night  are  waiting  for  us 
beyond,  but  my  medicine  says  that 
if  we  build  a  fire  the  demons  will 
not  come  near,  and  in  the  morning 
they  will  be  gone." 

They  made  a  small  fire  of  dead 
pine  sticks  and  sat  around  it  wrapped 
in  the  skins  of  the  gray  wolf,  with 
the  head  and  ears  of  that  fearful 
animal  capping  theirs — unearthly 
enough  to  frighten  even  the  mon 
sters  of  the  night. 

Old  Big  Hair  had  often  told  his 
son  that  he  would  send  him  out 

37 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

with  some  war-party  under  a  chief 
who  well  knew  how  to  make  war, 
and  with  a  medicine-man  whose 
war-medicine  was  strong;  but  no 
war-party  was  going  then  and  youth 
has  no  time  to  waste  in  waiting. 
Still,  he  did  not  fear  pursuit. 

Thus  the  two  human  wolves  sat 
around  the  snapping  sticks,  eating 
their  dried  buffalo  meat. 

"  To-morrow,  Red  Arrow,  we  will 
make  the  war-medicine.  I  must  find 
a  gray  spider,  which  I  am  to  kill, 
and  then  if  my  medicine  says  go 
on,  I  am  not  afraid,  for  it  came 
direct  from  the  Good  God,  who 
told  me  I  should  live  to  wear 
white  hair." 

"Yes,"  replied  Red  Arrow,  "we 
will  make  the  medicine.  We  do 

38 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

not  know  the  mysteries  of  the  great 
war-medicine,  but  I  feel  sure  that 
my  own  is  strong  to  protect  me. 
I  shall  talk  to  a  wolf.  We  shall 
find  a  big  gray  wolf,  and  if  as  we 
stand  still  on  the  plain  he  circles 
us  completely  around,  we  can  go 
on,  and  the  Gray  Horned  Thunder- 
Being  and  the  Great  Pipe-Bearing 
Wolf  will  march  on  our  either  side. 
But  if  the  wolf  does  not  circle  us, 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  Old 
Bear-Walks-at-Right,  who  is  the 
strongest  war-medicine-maker  in  the 
Chis-chis-chash,  says  that  when  the 
Gray  Horned  Thunder-Being  goes 
with  a  war-party,  they  are  sure  of 
counting  their  enemies'  scalps,  but 
when  the  Pipe-Bearing  Wolf  also 
goes,  the  enemy  cannot  strike  back, 

39 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

and  the  Wolf  goes  only  with  the 
people  of  our  clan." 

Thus  the  young  men  talked  to 
each  other,  and  the  demons  of  the 
night  joined  in  their  conversation 
from  among  the  tree-tops,  but  got 
no  nearer  because  the  fire  shot  words 
of  warning  up  to  them,  and  the 
hearts  of  the  boys  were  strong  to 
watch  the  contest  and  bear  it 
bravely. 

With  the  first  coming  of  light 
they  started  on — seeking  the  gray 
spider  and  the  gray  wolf.  After 
much  searching  through  the  rotting 
branches  of  the  fallen  trees,  White 
Otter  was  heard  calling  to  Red  Ar 
row  :  "  Come !  Here  is  the  gray 
spider,  and  as  I  kill  him,  if  he  con 
tains  blood  I  shall  go  on,  but  if  he 

40 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

does  not  contain  blood  my  medicine 
says  there  is  great  danger,  and  we 
must  not  go  on." 

Over  the  spider  stooped  the  two 
seekers  of  truth,  while  White  Otter 
got  the  spider  on  the  body  of  the 
log,  where  he  crushed  it  with  his 
bow.  The  globular  insect  burst 
into  a  splash  of  blood,  and  the 
young  savage  threw  back  his  shoul 
ders  with  a  haughty  grunt,  saying, 
"  My  medicine  is  strong — we  shall 
go  to  the  middle  of  the  Absaroke 
village,"  and  Red  Arrow  gave  his 
muttered  assent. 

"  Now  we  must  find  a  wolf,"  con 
tinued  Red  Arrow,  and  they  betook 
themselves  through  the  pines  to  the 
open  plains,  White  Otter  following 
him  but  a  step  in  rear. 

41 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

In  that  day  wolves  were  not  hard 
to  find  in  the  buffalo  country,  as 
they  swarmed  around  the  herds  and 
they  had  no  enemies.  Red  Arrow 
arrogated  to  himself  the  privilege  of 
selecting  the  wolf.  Scanning  the 
expanse,  it  was  not  long  before  their 
sharp  eyes  detected  ravens  hovering 
over  a  depression  in  the  plain,  but 
the  birds  did  not  swoop  down. 
They  knew  that  there  was  a  car 
cass  there  and  wolves,  otherwise  the 
birds  would  not  hover,  but  drop 
down.  Quickly  they  made  their 
way  to  the  place,  and  as  they  came 
in  range  they  saw  the  body  of  a 
half-eaten  buffalo  surrounded  by  a 
dozen  wolves.  The  wolves  betook 
themselves  slowly  off,  with  many 

wistful    looks    behind,    but    one    in 

42 


r 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

particular,  more  lately  arrived  at  the 
feast,  lingered  in  the  rear. 

Selecting  this  one.  Red  Arrow 
called:  "O  gray  wolf  of  my  clan, 
answer  me  this  question.  White 
Otter  and  I  are  going  to  the  Absa- 
roke  for  scalps — shall  we  have  for 
tune,  or  is  the  Absaroke  medicine 
too  strong?" 

The  wolf  began  to  circle  as  Red 
Arrow  approached  it  and  the  buffalo 
carcass.  Slowly  it  trotted  off  to  his 
left  hand,  whereat  the  anxious  war 
rior  followed  slowly. 

"Tell  me,  pretty  wolf,  shall  White 
Otter's  and  my  scalps  be  danced  by 
the  Absaroke?  Do  the  enemy  see 
us  coming  now — do  they  feel  our 
presence?"  And  the  wolf  trotted 
around  still  to  the  left. 

43 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

"Come,  brother.  Red  Arrow  is 
of  your  clan.  Warn  me,  if  I  must 
go  back."  And  as  the  Indian  turned, 
yet  striding  after  the  beast,  it  contin 
ued  to  go  away  from  him,  but  kept 
an  anxious  eye  on  the  dead  buffalo 
meanwhile. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  gray  wolf;  I 
would  not  raise  my  arm  to  strike. 
See,  I  have  laid  my  bow  on  the 
ground.  Tell  me  not  to  fear  the 
Absaroke,  gray  wolf,  and  I  promise 
to  kill  a  fat  buffalo-cow  for  you 
when  we  meet  again." 

The  wolf  had  nearly  completed 
his  circle  by  this  time,  and  once 
again  his  follower  spoke. 

"Do  you  fear  me  because  of  the 
skin  of  the  dead  wolf  you  see  by  my 
bow  on  the  ground?  No,  Red  Ar- 

44 


The  Ero^n  Bat  Proves  Itself 

row  did  not  kill  thy  brother.  He 
was  murdered  by  a  man  of  the  dog 
clan,  and  I  did  not  do  it.  Speak 
to  me — help  me  against  my  fears." 
And  the  wolf  barked  as  he  trotted 
around  until  he  had  made  a  com 
plete  circle  of  the  buffalo,  whereat 
Red  Arrow  took  up  his  bow  and 
bundle,  saying  to  White  Otter, 
"  Now  we  will  go." 

The  two  then  commenced  their 
long  quest  in  search  of  the  victims 
which  were  to  satisfy  their  ambi 
tions.  They  followed  up  the  de 
pression  in  the  plains  where  they 
had  found  the  buffalo,  gained  the 
timber,  and  walked  all  day  under 
its  protecting  folds.  They  were  a 
long  way  from  their  enemies'  coun 
try,  but  instinctively  began  the  cau- 

45 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

tious  advance  which  is  the  wild- 
animal  nature  of  an  Indian. 

The  old  buffalo-bulls,  elk  and 
deer  fled  from  before  them  as  they 
marched.  A  magpie  mocked  at 
them.  They  stopped  while  White 
Otter  spoke  harshly  to  it :  "  You 
laugh  at  us,  fool-bird,  because  we 
are  boys,  but  you  shall  see  when  we 
come  back  that  we  are  warriors. 
We  will  have  a  scalp  to  taunt  you 
with.  Begone  now,  before  I  pierce 
you  with  an  arrow,  you  chattering 
woman-bird."  And  the  magpie  flut 
tered  away  before  the  unwonted  ad 
dress. 

In  the  late  afternoon  they  saw  a 
band  of  wolves  pull  down  and  kill 
a  fawn,  and  ran  to  it,  saying,  "  See, 

the  Pipe-Bearing  Wolf  is  with  us ; 

46 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

he  makes  the  wolves  to  hunt  for  us 
of  his  clan,"  and  they  despoiled  the 
prey.  ^ 

Coming  to  a  shallow  creek,  they 
took  off  their  moccasins  and  waded 
down  it  for  a  mile,  when  they  turned 
into  a  dry  watercourse,  which  they 
followed  up  for  a  long  distance,  and 
then  stopped  in  some  thick  brush 
which  lined  its  sides.  They  sat  long 
together  on  the  edge  of  the  bushes, 
scanning  with  their  piercing  eyes  the 
sweep  of  the  plains,  but  nothing  was 
there  to  rouse  their  anxiety.  The 
wild  animals  were  feeding  peace 
fully,  the  sun  sank  to  rest,  and  no 
sound  came  to  them  but  the  cry  of 
the  night-birds. 

When  it  was  quite  dark,  they  made 
a  small  fire  in  the  depths  of  the  cut, 

47 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

threw  a  small  quantity  of  tobacco 
into  it  as  a  sacrifice,  cooked  the 
venison  and  went  to  sleep. 

It  was  more  than  mere  extension 
of  interest  with  them ;  it  was  more 
than  ambition's  haughtiest  fight ;  it 
was  the  sun-dried,  wind-shriveled, 
tried-out  atavistic  blood-thirst  made 
holy  by  the  approval  of  the  Good 
God  they  knew. 

The  miniature  war-party  got  at 
last  into  the  Absaroke  country.  Be 
fore  them  lay  a  big  camp — the  tepees 
scattering  down  the  creek-bottom  for 
miles,  until  lost  at  a  turn  of  the  tim 
ber.  Eagerly  they  studied  the  cut 
and  sweep  of  the  land,  the  way  the 
tepees  dotted  it,  the  moving  of  the 
pony  herds  and  the  coming  and 

going    of  the   hunters,   but  most  of 

48 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

all  the  mischievous  wanderings  of 
the  restless  Indian  boys.  Their  tele 
scopic  eyes  penetrated  everything. 
They  understood  the  movements  of 
their  foes,  for  they  were  of  kindred 
nature  with  their  own. 

Their  buffalo-meat  was  almost 
gone,  and  it  was  dangerous  to  kill 
game  now  for  fear  of  attracting  the 
ravens,  which  would  circle  overhead 
and  be  seen  from  the  camp.  These 
might  attract  an  investigation  from 
idle  and  adventurous  boys  and  be 
tray  them. 

"  Go  now;  your  time  has  come," 
said  the  little  brown  bat  on  White 
Otter's  scalp-lock. 

"  Go  now,"  echoed  Red  Arrow's 
charm. 

When  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of 
49 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  land  but  the  twinkle  of  the  fires 
in  the  camp,  they  were  lying  in  a 
deep  washout  under  a  bluff,  which 
overlooked  the  hostile  camp.  Long 
and  silently  they  sat  watching  the 
fires  and  the  people  moving  about, 
hearing  their  hum  and  chanting  as 
it  came  to  them  on  the  still  air, 
together  with  the  barking  of  dogs, 
the  nickering  of  ponies,  and  the 
hollow  pounding  on  a  log  made 
by  old  squaws  hacking  with  their 
hatchets. 

Slowly  before  the  drowse  of  dark 
ness,  the  noises  quieted  and  the  fires 
died  down.  Red  Arrow  felt  his 
potent  symbols  whispering  to  him. 

"  My  medicine  is  telling  me  what 
to  do,  White  Otter." 

"  What  does  it  say?" 
5° 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

"  It  says  that  there  is  a  danger 
ous  mystery  in  the  blue-and-yellow 
tepee  at  the  head  of  the  village. 
It  tells  me  to  have  great  care/'  re 
plied  Red  Arrow. 

"  Hough,  my  medicine  says  go 
on  ;  I  am  to  be  a  great  warrior," 
replied  White  Otter. 

After  a  moment  Red  Arrow  ex 
claimed:  "My  medicine  says  go  with 
White  Otter,  and  do  what  he  says. 
It  is  good." 

"  Come,  then ;  we  will  take  the 
war-ponies  from  beside  the  blue- 
and-yellow  tepee.  They  belong  to  a 
chief  and  are  good.  We  will  strike 
an  Absaroke  if  we  can.  Come  with 
me."  White  Otter  then  glided  for 
ward  in  the  darkness  toward  the 
camp.  When  quite  near,  they  waited 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

for  a  time  to  allow  the  dogs  to  be 
still,  and  when  they  ceased  to  tongue, 
they  again  approached  with  greater 
caution. 

Slowly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
animals  of  the  Indians,  they  neared 
the  blue-and-yellow  tepee,  squatting 
low  to  measure  its  gloom  against 
the  sky-line.  They  were  among 
the  picketed  ponies,  and  felt  them 
all  over  carefully  with  their  hands. 
They  found  the  clip-maned  war- 
ponies  and  cut  the  ropes.  The  In 
dian  dogs  made  no  trouble,  as  they 
walked  their  booty  very  slowly  and 
very  quietly  away,  as  though  they 
wandered  in  search  of  food.  When 
well  out  of  hearing,  they  sprang  on 
their  backs  and  circled  back  to  the 
creek-bottom. 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

Nearing  this,  they  heard  the  oc 
casional  inharmonious  notes  of  an 
Indian  flute  among  the  trees.  In 
stantly  they  recognized  it  as  an  In 
dian  lover  calling  for  his  sweetheart 
to  come  out  from  the  lodges  to 
him. 

"  Hold  the  ponies.  Red  Arrow. 
My  medicine  tells  me  to  strike," 
and  White  Otter  slid  from  his  horse. 
He  passed  among  the  tepees  at  the 
end  of  the  village,  then  quickly  ap 
proached  the  direction  of  the  noise 
of  the  flute. 

The  lover  heard  his  approaching 
footsteps,  for  White  Otter  walked 
upright  until  the  notes  stopped, 
when  he  halted  to  await  their  re 
newal.  Again  the  impatient  gal 
lant  called  from  the  darkness  to  his 

53 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

hesitating  one,  and  our  warrior  ad 
vanced  with  bared  knife  in  one 
hand,  and  bow  in  the  other  with 
an  arrow  notched. 

When    quite    near,   the  Absaroke 
spoke    in     his    own     language,    but 
White     Otter,     not     understanding, 
made    no    reply,    though    advancing 
rapidly.      Alas  for  the  surging  blood 
which  burns  a  lover's  head,  for  his 
quick  advance  to  White  Otter  dis 
covered  for  him  nothing  until,  with 
a  series  of  lightning-like   stabs,   the 
knife  tore  its  way  into  his  vitals — 
once,  twice,  three  times,  when,  with 
a  wild  yell,  he  sank  under  his  de 
luded  infatuation. 

He  doubtless  never  knew,  but  his 
yell  had  found  its  response  from  the 
camp.  Feeling  quickly,  White  Ot- 

54 


The  Brown  Eat  Proves  Itself 

ter  wound  his  hand  among  the  thick 
black  hair  of  his  victim's  head,  and 
though  it  was  his  first,  he  made  no 
bad  work  of  the  severance  of  the 
prize,  whereat  he  ran  fast  to  his 
chum.  Attracted  by  the  noise,  Red 
Arrow  rode  up,  and  they  were 
mounted.  Cries  and  yells  and  bark 
ing  came  from  the  tepees,  but  silently 
they  loped  away  from  the  confusion 
— turning  into  the  creek,  blinding 
the  trail  in  the  water  for  a  few  yards 
and  regaining  the  hills  from  a  much- 
tracked-up  pony  and  buffalo  cross 
ing.  Over  the  bluffs  and  across  the 
hills  they  made  their  way,  until  they 
no  longer  heard  the  sounds  of  the 
camp  behind  them. 

Filled    with    a    great    exultation, 
they  trotted  and   loped   along  until 

55 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  moon  came  up,  when  White 
Otter  spoke  for  the  first  time,  ad 
dressing  it:  "Pretty  Mother  of  the 
Night — time  of  the  little  brown 
bat's  flight — see  what  I  have  done. 
White  Otter  is  no  longer  a  boy." 
Then  to  his  pony:  "Go  on  quickly 
now,  pretty  little  war-pony.  You 
are  strong  to  carry  me.  Do  not 
lame  yourself  in  the  dog-holes. 
Carry  me  back  to  the  Chis-chis- 
chash,  and  I  promise  the  Mother  of 
the  Night,  now  and  here,  where  you 
can  hear  me  speak,  that  you  shall 
never  carry  any  man  but  White 
Otter,  and  that  only  in  war." 

For  three  days  and  nights  they 
rode  as  rapidly  as  the  ponies  could 
travel,  resting  an  hour  here  and  there 
to  refresh  themselves.  Gradually  re- 

56 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

laxing  after  this,  they  assumed  the 
fox- trot  of  the  plains  pony;  but 
they  looked  many  times  behind  and 
doubled  often  in  their  trail. 

Seeing  a  band  of  wolves  around  a 
buffalo-bull  which  was  fighting  them 
off,  they  rode  up  and  shot  arrows 
into  it — the  sacrifice  to  the  brother 
of  the  clan  who  had  augured  for 
them.  Red  Arrow  affected  to  rec 
ognize  his  old  acquaintance  in  the 
group. 

As  they  rode  on,  White  Otter 
spoke :  "  I  shall  wear  the  eagle- 
feather  standing  up  in  my  scalp-lock, 
for  I  struck  him  with  a  hand- weapon 
standing  up.  It  shall  wave  above 
the  bat  and  make  him  strong.  The 
little  brown  bat  will  be  very  brave 
in  the  time  to  come.  We  took  the 

57 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

clipped  and  painted  war-ponies  from 
under    the    chief's    nose,    Red    Ar 


row." 


"  Yes,  I  did  that — but  my  medi 
cine  grew  weak  when  it  looked  at 
the  great  camp  of  the  Absaroke. 
Your  medicine  was  very  strong, 
White  Otter;  there  is  no  old  war 
rior  in  the  Chis-chis-chash  whose  is 
stronger.  I  shall  take  the  charcoal 
again,  and  see  if  the  Good  God 
won't  strengthen  my  medicine." 

Time  brought  the  victors  in  sight 
of  their  village,  which  had  moved 
meanwhile,  and  it  was  late  in  the 
evening. 

"Stay  here  with  the  ponies,  Red 
Arrow,  and  I  will  go  into  my  father's 
lodge  and  get  red  paint  for  us.  We 
will  not  enter  until  to-morrow." 

58 


The  Brown  Bat  Proves  Itself 

So  White  Otter  stole  into  his  own 
tepee  by  night — told  his  father  of  his 
triumph — got  a  quantity  of  vermil 
ion  and  returned  to  the  hills.  When 
he  and  Red  Arrow  had  bedaubed 
themselves  and  their  ponies  most 
liberally,  they  wrapped  the  scalp  to 
a  lance  which  he  had  brought  out, 
then  moved  slowly  forward  in  the 
morning  light  on  their  jaded  ponies 
to  the  village,  yelling  the  long,  high 
notes  of  the  war-whoop.  The  peo 
ple  ran  out  to  see  them  come,  many 
young  men  riding  to  meet  them. 
The  yelling  procession  came  to  the 
masses  of  the  people,  who  shrilled  in 
answer,  the  dogs  ki-yied,  and  old 
trade-guns  boomed.  White  Otter's 
chin  was  high,  his  eyes  burned  with 
a  devilish  light  through  the  red 

59 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

paint,  as  he  waved  the  lance  slowly, 
emitting  from  time  to  time  above 
the  din  his  battle-cry. 

It  was  thus  that  White  Otter  be 
came  a  man. 


60 


Ill 

The   Eat   Devises   Mischief  Among 
the   Yellow-Ryes 


61 


Ill 

The   Bat   Devises   Mischief  Among 
the   Yellow-Eyes 

TTTHITE  OTTER  the  boy  had 
^  ^  been  superseded  by  the  man 
with  the  upright  eagle-feather,  whom 
people  now  spoke  of  as  Ho-to-kee- 
mat-sin,  the  Bat.  The  young  women 
of  the  Chis-chis-chash  threw  ap 
proving  glances  after  the  Bat  as  he 
strode  proudly  about  the  camp.  He 
was  possessed  of  all  desirable  things 
conceivable  to  the  red  mind.  Noth 
ing  that  ever  bestrode  a  horse  was 
more  exquisitely  supple  than  the 
well-laid  form  of  this  young  Indian 
man ;  his  fame  as  a  hunter  was  great, 
but  the  taking  of  the  Absaroke  scalp 

63 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

was  transcendent.  Still,  it  was  not 
possible  to  realize  any  matrimonial 
hopes  which  he  was  led  to  entertain, 
for  his  four  ponies  would  buy  no  girl 
fit  for  him.  The  captured  war-pony, 
too,  was  one  of  these,  and  not  to  be 
transferred  for  any  woman. 

The  Bat  had  conjured  with  him 
self  and  conceived  the  plan  of  a  trip 
to  the  far  south — to  the  land  of 
many  horses — but  the  time  was  not 
yet. 

As  the  year  drew  on,  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  moved  to  the  west — to 
the  great  fall  buffalo-hunt — to  the 
mountains  where  they  could  gather 
fresh  tepee-poles,  and  with  the  hope 
of  trade  with  the  wandering  trapper 
bands.  To  be  sure,  the  Bat  had  no 
skins  of  ponies  to  barter  with  them, 

64 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

but  good  fortune  is  believed  to  stand 
in  the  path  of  every  young  man, 
somewhere,  some  time,  as  he  wanders 
on  to  meet  it.  Delayed  ambition  did 
not  sour  the  days  for  the  Indian.  He 
knew  that  the  ponies  and  the  women 
and  the  chieftainship  would  come  in 
the  natural  way;  besides  which,  was 
he  not  already  a  warrior  worth  point 
ing  at  ? 

He  accompanied  the  hunters  when 
they  made  the  buffalo-surround,  where 
the  bellowing  herds  shook  the  dusty 
air  and  made  the  land  to  thunder 
while  the  Bat  flew  in  swift  spirals 
like  his  prototype.  Many  a  carcass 
lay  with  his  arrows  driven  deep, 
while  the  squaws  of  Big  Hair's  lodge 
sought  the  private  mark  of  the  Bat 
on  them. 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

The  big  moving  camp  of  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  was  strung  over  the  plains 
—squaws,  dogs,  fat  little  boys  tod 
dling  after  possible  prairie  dogs,  tepee 
ponies,  pack-animals  with  gaudy 
squaw  trappings,  old  chiefs  stalking 
along  in  their  dignified  buffalo-robes 
—and  a  swarm  of  young  warriors 
riding  far  on  either  side. 

The  Bat  and  Red  Arrow's  lusty 
fire  had  carried  them  far  in  the  front, 
and  as  they  slowly  raised  the  brow  of 
a  hill  they  saw  in  the  shimmer  of  the 
distance  a  cavalcade  with  many  two- 
wheeled  carts — all  dragging  wearily 
over  the  country. 

"The  Yellow-Eyes!"  said  the  Bat. 

"Yes,"  replied  Red  Arrow.  "They 
always  march  in  the  way  the  wild 

ducks  fly — going  hither  and  yon  to 

66 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

see  what  is  happening  in  the  land. 
But  their  medicine  is  very  strong;  I 
have  heard  the  old  men  say  it." 

" Hough!  it  may  be,  but  is  not 
the  medicine  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 
also  strong  ?  Why  do  we  not  strike 
them.  Red  Arrow?  That  I  could 
never  understand.  They  have  many 
guns,  blankets,  paints,  many  strong 
ponies  and  the  strong  water,  which 
we  might  take,"  added  the  Bat,  in 
perplexity. 

"Yes,  true,  we  might  take  all,  but 
the  old  men  say  that  the  Yellow- 
Eyes  would  not  come  again  next 
green  grass — we  would  make  them 
afraid.  They  would  no  more  bring 
us  the  powder  and  guns  or  the  knives. 
What  could  we  do  without  iron  ar 
row-heads?  Do  you  remember  how 

67 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

hard  it  was  to  make  bone  arrow 
heads,  when  we  were  boys  and  could 
not  get  the  iron?  Then,  the  Yel 
low-Eyes  are  not  so  many  as  the 
Chis-chis-chash,  and  they  are  afraid 
of  us.  No,  we  must  not  make  them 
more  timid,"  replied  the  wise  Red 
Arrow. 

"But  we  may  steal  a  gun  or  a 
strong  pony,  when  they  do  not  look," 
continued  the  indomitable  Bat. 

"Yes — we  will  try." 

"I  will  go  down  the  hill,  and 
make  my  pony  go  around  in  a  circle 
so  that  the  camp  may  send  the  war 
riors  out  to  us,"  saying  which,  the 
Bat  rode  the  danger-signal,  and  the 
Chis-chis-chash  riders  came  scurry 
ing  over  the  dry  grass,  leaving  lines 

of  white  dust  in  long  marks  behind 

68 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

them.  Having  assembled  to  the  num 
ber  of  a  hundred  or  so,  the  chiefs 
held  a  long  consultation,  each  talking 
loudly  from  his  horse,  with  many 
gestures.  After  some  minutes,  the 
head  war-chief  declared  in  a  high, 
rough  voice  that  the  man  must  go 
to  the  Yellow-Eyes  with  the  peace- 
sign,  and  that  they  must  not  do 
anything  to  make  the  Yellow-Eyes 
afraid.  The  white  men  had  many 
guns,  and  if  they  feared  the  Indians 
they  would  fire  on  them,  and  it 
would  be  impossible  to  get  near  the 
powder  and  paints  and  knives  which 
were  in  the  carts. 

The  warriors  took  each  from  a 
little  bag  his  paints  and  plumes.  Sit 
ting  in  the  grass,  they  decorated 
themselves  until  they  assumed  all 

69 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

hues — some  red,  and  others  half 
white  or  red  across  the  face,  while 
the  ponies  came  in  for  streaks  and 
daubs,  grotesque  as  tropic  birds. 

So  over  the  hill  rode  the  line  of 
naked  men,  their  ponies  dancing  with 
excitement,  while  ahead  of  them  a 
half-breed  man  skimmed  along  bear 
ing  a  small  bush  over  his  head.  The 
cavalcade  of  the  Yellow-Eyes  had 
halted  in  a  compact  mass,  awaiting 
the  oncoming  Indians.  They  had 
dismounted  and  gone  out  on  the  sides 
away  from  the  carts,  where  they 
squatted  quietly  in  the  grass.  This 
was  what  the  Yellow-Eyes  always 
did  in  war,  unlike  Indians,  who  dif 
fused  themselves  on  their  speeding 
ponies,  sailing  like  hawks. 

A  warrior  of  the  Yellow-Eyes  came 

70 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

to  meet  them,  waving  a  white  cloth 
from  his  gun-barrel  after  the  manner 
of  his  people,  and  the  two  peace- 
bearers  shook  hands.  Breaking  into 
a  run,  the  red  line  swept  on,  their 
ponies'  legs  beating  the  ground  in  a 
vibratory  whirl,  their  plumes  swish 
ing  back  in  a  rush  of  air,  and  with 
yelps  which  made  the  white  men 
draw  their  guns  into  a  menacing 
position. 

At  a  motion  of  the  chief's  arm, 
the  line  stopped.  The  Yellow-Eyed 
men  rose  slowly  from  the  grass  and 
rested  on  their  long  rifles,  while  their 
chief  came  forward. 

For  a  long  time  the  two  head  men 
sat  on  their  ponies  in  front  of  the 
horsemen,  speaking  together  with 
their  hands.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be 

71 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

heard  but  the  occasional  stamp  of  a 
pony's  hoof  on  the  hard  ground. 
The  beady  eyes  of  the  Chis-chis- 
chash  beamed  malevolently  on  the 
white  chief — the  blood-thirst,  the 
warrior's  itch,  was  upon  them. 

After  an  understanding  had  been 
arrived  at,  the  Indian  war-chief  turned 
to  his  people  and  spoke.  "  We  will 
go  back  to  our  village.  The  Yellow- 
Eyes  do  not  want  us  among  their 
carts — they  are  afraid.  We  will 
camp  near  by  them  to-night,  and  to 
morrow  we  will  exchange  gifts.  Go 
back,  Chis-chis-chash,  or  the  white 
chief  says  it  is  war.  We  do  not 
want  war."  This  and  much  more 
said  the  chief  and  his  older  men  to 
the  impulsive  braves,  whose  uncon 
trollable  appetites  had  been  whetted 

72 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

by  the  sight  of  the  carts.  The  white 
man  was  firm  and  the  Indians  drew 
off  to  await  the  coming  of  the  village. 

The  two  camps  were  pitched  that 
night  two  miles  apart ;  the  Yellow- 
Eyes  intrenched  behind  their  packs 
and  carts,  while  the  Indians,  being 
in  overwhelming  strength,  did  much 
as  usual,  except  that  the  camp-sol 
diers  drove  the  irrepressible  boys  back, 
not  minding  to  beat  their  ponies  with 
their  whips  when  they  were  slow  to 
go.  There  was  nothing  that  a  boy 
could  do  except  obey  when  the  camp- 
soldier  spoke  to  him.  He  was  the 
one  restraint  they  had,  the  only  one. 

But  as  a  mark  of  honor,  the  Bat 
and  Red  Arrow  were  given  the  dis 
tinguished  honor  of  observing  the 
Yellow-Eyed  camp  all  night,  to  note 

73 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

its  movements  if  any  occurred,  and 
with  high  hearts  they  sat  under  a 
hill-top  all  through  the  cold  dark 
ness,  and  their  souls  were  much  chas 
tened  by  resisting  the  impulses  to 
run  off  the  white  man's  ponies,  which 
they  conceived  to  be  a  very  possible 
undertaking.  The  Bat  even  declared 
that  if  he  ever  became  a  chief  this 
policy  of  inaction  would  be  followed 
by  one  more  suited  to  pony-loving 
young  men. 

Nothing  having  occurred,  they  re 
turned  before  daylight  to  their  own 
camp  so  to  inform  the  war-chief. 

That  day  the  Chis-chis-chash 
crowded  around  the  barricade  of  the 
Yellow-Eyes,  but  were  admitted  only 
a  few  at  a  time.  They  received  many 
small  presents  of  coffee  and  sugar, 

74 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

and  traded  what  ponies  and  robes 
they  could.  At  last  it  became  the 
time  for  the  Bat  to  go  into  the  trap 
pers'  circle.  He  noted  the  piles  of 
bales  and  boxes  as  he  passed  in,  a 
veritable  mountain  of  wealth  ;  he  saw 
the  tall  white  men  in  their  buckskin 
and  white  blanket  suits,  befringed 
and  beribboned ;  their  long,  light 
hair,  their  bushy  beards,  and  each 
carrying  a  well-oiled  rifle.  Ah,  a 
rifle !  That  was  what  the  Bat  wanted ; 
it  displaced  for  the  time  all  other 
thoughts  of  the  young  warrior.  He 
had  no  robes  and  came  naked  among 
the  traders— they  noted  him — only 
an  Indian  boy,  and  when  all  his  group 
had  bartered  what  they  had,  the  half- 
breed  who  had  rode  with  the  peace 
branch  spoke  to  him,  interpreting: 

75 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

"  The  white  chief  wants  to  know  if 
you  want  to  buy  anything." 

"  Yes.  Tell  the  white  chief  that 
I  must  have  a  gun,  and  some  powder 
and  ball." 

"What  has  the  boy  to  give  for  a 
gun?"  asked  a  long-bearded  leader. 

"A  pony — a  fast  buffalo-pony," 
replied  our  hero  through  the  half- 
breed. 

"One  pony  is  not  enough  for  a 
gun  ;  he  must  give  three  ponies.  He 
is  too  young  to  have  three  ponies," 
replied  the  trader. 

"Say  to  the  Yellow-Eye  that  I 
will  give  him  two  ponies,"  risked  the 
Bat. 

"No,  no;  he  says  three  ponies, 
and  you  will  not  get  them  for  less. 

The  white  chief  means  what  he  says. 

76 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

He  says  you  must  leave  here  now 
with  those  people  so  that  older  men 
can  come  and  trade." 

"Let  me  see  the  gun,"  demanded 
the  boy.  A  gun  was  necessary  for 
the  Bat's  future  progression. 

A  subordinate  was  directed  to  show 
a  gun  to  him,  which  he  did  by  tak 
ing  him  one  side  and  pulling  one 
from  a  cart.  It  was  a  long,  yellow- 
stocked  smoothbore,  with  a  flintlock. 
It  had  many  brass  tacks  driven  into 
the  stock,  and  was  bright  in  its  cheap 
newness.  As  the  Bat  took  it  in  his 
hand  he  felt  a  nervous  thrill,  such  as 
he  had  not  experienced  since  the 
night  he  had  pulled  the  dripping  hair 
from  the  Absaroke.  He  felt  it  all 
over,  smoothing  it  with  his  hand ; 
he  cocked  and  snapped  it;  and  the 

77 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

little  brown  bat  on  his  scalp-lock 
fairly  yelled:  "Get  your  ponies,  get 
your  ponies — you  must  have  the 
gun." 

Returning  the  gun,  the  Bat  ran 
out,  and  after  a  time  came  back  with 
his  three  ponies,  which  he  drove  up 
to  the  white  man's  pen,  saying  in 
Chis-chis-chash:  "Here  are  my  po 
nies.  Give  me  the  gun." 

The  white  chief  glanced  at  the 
boy  as  he  sat  there  on  a  sturdy  little 
clip-maned  war-pony — the  one  he 
had  stolen  from  the  Absaroke.  He 
spoke,  and  the  interpreter  continued  : 
"The  trader  says  he  will  take  the 
pony  you  are  riding  as  one  of  the 
three." 

"Tell  him  that  I  say  I  would  not 
give  this  pony  for  all  the  goods  I  see. 

78 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

Here  are  my  three  ponies;  now  let 
him  give  me  the  gun  before  he  makes 
himself  a  liar,"  and  the  boy  warrior 
wore  himself  into  a  frenzy  of  excite 
ment  as  he  yelled:  "Tell  him  if  he 
does  not  give  me  the  gun  he  will 
feel  this  war-pony  in  the  dark,  when 
he  travels;  tell  him  he  will  not  see 
this  war-pony,  but  he  will  feel  him 
when  he  counts  his  ponies  at  day 
light.  He  is  a  liar." 

"The  white  chief  says  he  will  take 
the  war-pony  in  place  of  three  po 
nies,  and  give  you  a  gun,  with  much 
powder  and  many  balls." 

"Tell  the  Yellow-Eye  he  is  a  liar, 
with  the  lie  hot  on  his  lips,"  and 
the  Bat  grew  quiet  to  all  outward 
appearance. 

After  speaking  to  the  trader,  the 
79 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

interpreter  waved  at  the  naked 
youth,  sitting  there  on  his  war- 
pony:  "Go  away — you  are  a  boy, 
and  you  keep  the  warriors  from 
trading." 

With  a  few  motions  of  the  arms, 
so  quickly  done  that  the  interpreter 
had  not  yet  turned  away  his  eye,  the 
Bat  had  an  arrow  drawn  to  its  head 
on  his  leveled  bow,  and  covering 
the  white  chief. 

Indians  sprang  between;  white 
men  cocked  their  rifles;  two  camp- 
soldiers  rushed  to  the  enraged  Bat 
and  led  his  pony  quietly  away,  driv 
ing  the  three  ponies  after  him. 

The  trading  progressed  through 
out  the  day,  and  at  night  the  Indians 
all  came  home,  but  no  one  saw  the 

Bat  in    his   father's    lodge,   and  also 

80 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

Red  Arrow  was  missing.  All  the 
Indians  had  heard  of  how  the  white 
trader  had  lied  to  the  boy,  and  they 
knew  the  retribution  must  come. 
The  trading  was  over;  the  white 
men  had  packed  up  their  goods,  and 
had  shaken  hands  with  the  chiefs 
and  head  men,  promising  to  come 
again  when  the  grass  was  green. 

The  Chis-chis-chash  were  busy 
during  the  ensuing  days  following 
the  buffalo,  and  their  dogs  grew  fat 
on  the  leavings  of  the  carcasses. 
The  white  traders  drew  their  weary 
line  over  the  rolling  hills,  traveling 
as  rapidly  as  possible  to  get  west 
ward  of  the  mountains  before  the 
snows  encompassed  them.  But  by 
night  and  by  day,  on  their  little 
flank  in  rear  or  far  in  front,  rode 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

two  vermilion  warrior  -  boys,  on 
painted  ponies,  and  one  with  an 
eagle -plume  upright  in  his  scalp- 
lock.  By  night  two  gray  wolves 
stood  upward  among  the  trees  or  lay 
in  the  plum-branches  near  enough  to 
see  and  to  hear  the  Iving  talk  of  the 
Yellow-Eyes. 

Old  Delaware  hunters  in  the  cara 
van  told  the  white  chief  that  they 
had  seen  swift  pony-tracks  as  they 
hunted  through  the  hills;  and  that, 
too,  many  times.  The  tracks 
showed  that  the  ponies  were  strong 
and  went  quickly — faster  than  they 
could  follow  on  their  jaded  mounts. 
The  white  chief  must  not  trust  the 
solitude. 

But  the  trailing  buffalo  soon  blot 
ted  out  the  pony-marks;  the  white 

82 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

men  saw  only  the  sailing  hawks,  and 
heard  only  bellowing  and  howling 
at  night.  Their  natures  responded 
to  the  lull,  until  two  horse-herders, 
sitting  in  the  willows,  grew  eager  in 
a  discussion,  and  did  not  notice  at 
once  that  the  ponies  and  mules  were 
traveling  rapidly  away  to  the  bluffs. 
When  the  distance  to  which  the 
ponies  had  roamed  drew  their  atten 
tion  at  last,  they  looked  hard  and 
put  away  their  pipes  and  gathered 
up  their  ropes.  Two  ponies  ran 
hither  and  thither  behind  the  horses. 
There  was  method  in  their  move 
ments — were  they  wild  stallions? 
The  white  men  moved  out  toward 
the  herd,  still  gazing  ardently;  they 
saw  one  of  these  ponies  turn  quick 
ly,  and  as  he  did  so  a  naked  figure 

83 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

shifted  from  one  side  to  the  other  of 
his  back. 

"  Indians !   Indians  I ' 

A   pistol  was    fired — the    herders 
galloped  after. 

The  horse-thieves  sat  up  on  their 
ponies,  and  the  long,  tremulous  notes 
of  the  war-whoop  were  faintly  borne 
on  the  wind  to  the  camp  of  the  Yel 
low-Eyes.  Looking  out  across  the 
plains,  they  saw  the  herd  break  into 
a  wild  stampede,  while  behind  them 
sped  the  Bat  and  Red  Arrow,  waving 
long -lashed  whips,  to  the  ends  of 
which  were  suspended  blown-up  buf 
falo-bladders,  which  struck  the  hard 
ground  with  sharp,  explosive  thumps, 
rebounding  and  striking  again.  The 
horses  were  terrorized,  but,  being 
worn  down,  could  not  draw  away 

84 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

from  the  swift  and  supple  war-steeds. 
There  were  more  than  two  hundred 
beasts,  and  the  white  men  were  prac 
tically  afoot. 

Many  riders  joined  the  pursuit;  a 
few  lame  horses  fell  out  of  the  herd 
and  out  of  the  race — but  it  could 
have  only  one  ending  with  the  long 
start.  Mile  by  mile  the  darkness 
was  coming  on,  so  that  when  they 
could  no  longer  see,  the  white  pur 
suers  could  hear  the  beat  of  hoofs, 
until  that,  too,  passed — and  their 
horses  were  gone. 

That  night  there  was  gloom  and 
dejection  around  the  camp-fires  in 
side  the  ring  of  carts.  Some  recalled 
the  boy  on  the  war-pony  with  the 
leveled  bow;  some  'even  whispered 
that  Mr.  Mclntish  had  lied  to  the 

85 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

boy,  but  no  one  dared  say  that  out 
loud.  The  factor  stormed  and 
damned,  but  finally  gathered  what 
men  he  could  mount  and  prepared 
to  follow  next  day. 

Follow  he  did,  but  the  buffalo  had 
stamped  out  the  trail,  and  at  last, 
baffled  and  made  to  go  slow  by  the 
blinded  sign,  he  gave  up  the  trail,  to 
hunt  for  the  Chis-chis-chash  village, 
where  he  would  try  for  justice  at  the 
hands  of  the  head  men. 

After  seven  days' journey  he  struck 
the  carcasses  left  in  the  line  of  the 
Indians'  march,  and  soon  came  up 
with  their  camp,  which  he  entered 
with  appropriate  ceremony,  followed 
by  his  retinue  —  half-breed  inter 
preter,  Delaware  trailers,  French 

horse-herders,  and  two  real  Yellow- 

86 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

Eyed  men — white  Rocky  Mountain 
trappers. 

He  sought  the  head  chief,  and  they 
all  gathered  in  the  council  tepee. 
There  they  smoked  and  passed  the 
pipe.  The  squaws  brought  kettles 
of  buffalo-meat,  and  the  eager  young 
sters  crowded  the  door  until  a  camp- 
soldier  stood  in  the  way  to  bar  them 
back.  The  subchiefs  sat  in  bronze 
calm,  with  their  robes  drawn  in  all 
dignity  about  them. 

When  all  was  ready,  Mr.  Mcln- 
tish  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  lodge 
and  spoke  with  great  warmth  and 
feeling,  telling  them  that  Chis-chis- 
chash  warriors  had  stolen  his  horse- 
herd — that  he  had  traced  it  to  their 
camp  and  demanded  its  return.  He 
accused  them  of  perfidy,  and  warned 

87 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

them  that  from  thence  on  no  more 
traders  would  ever  come  into  their 
country,  but  would  give  their  guns 
to  the  Absaroke,  who  would  thus  be 
able  to  overwhelm  them  in  war.  No 
more  would  the  chiefs  drink  of  the 
spring-water  they  loved  so  well — no 
more  would  a  white  man  pass  the 
pipe  with  the  Chis-chis-chash  if 
justice  was  not  done;  and  much 
more  which  elicited  only  meaning 
less  grunts  from  the  stoic  ring  of 
listeners. 

When  he  had  finished  and  sat 
down,  the  head  chief  arose  slowly, 
and  stepping  from  the  folds  of  his 
robe,  he  began  slowly  to  talk,  mak 
ing  many  gestures.  "If  the  white 
chief  had  tracked  the  stolen  ponies 

to  his  camp,  let  him    come   out   to 

88 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

the  Indian  pony-herds  and  point 
them  out.  He  could  take  his 
horses." 

The  face  of  the  trader  grew  hard 
as  he  faced  the  snare  into  which  the 
chief  had  led  him,  and  the  lodge 
was  filled  with  silence. 

The  camp-soldier  at  the  entrance 
was  brushed  aside,  and  with  a  rapid 
stride  a  young  Indian  gained  the  cen 
ter  of  the  lodge  and  stood  up  very 
straight  in  his  nakedness.  He  began 
slowly,  with  senatorial  force  made 
fierce  by  resolve. 

"The  white  chief  is 'a  liar.  He 
lied  to  me  about  the  gun;  he  has 
come  into  the  council  tepee  of  the 
Chis  -  chis  -  chash  and  lied  to  all 
the  chiefs.  He  did  not  trail  the 

stolen    horses    to    this    camp.       He 

89 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

will  not  find  them  in  our  pony- 
herds." 

He  stopped  awaiting  the  inter 
preter.  A  murmur  of  grunts  went 
round. 

"I — the  boy — I  stole  all  the  white 
chief's  ponies,  in  the  broad  daylight, 
with  his  whole  camp  looking  at  me. 
I  did  not  come  in  the  dark.  He  is 
not  worthy  of  that.  He  is  a  liar, 
and  there  is  a  shadow  across  his  eyes. 
The  ponies  are  not  here.  They  are 
far  away — where  the  poor  blind  Yel 
low-Eyes  cannot  see  them  even  in 
dreams.  There  is  no  man  of  the 
Chis  -  chis  -  chash  here  who  knows 
where  the  horses  are.  Before  the 
liar  gets  his  horses  again,  he  will 
have  his  mouth  set  on  straight,"  and 

the  Bat  turned  slowly  around,  sweep- 

90 


The  Bat  Devises  Mischief 

ing  the  circle  with  his  eyes  to  note 
the  effect  of  his  first  speech,  but  there 
was  no  sound. 

Again  the  trader  ventured  on  his 
wrongs — charged  the  responsibility 
of  the  Bat's  actions  on  the  Chis- 
chis-chash,  and  pleaded  for  justice. 

The  aged  head  chief  again  arose 
to  reply,  saying  he  was  sorry  for 
what  had  occurred,  but  he  reminded 
Mclntish  that  the  young  warrior  had 
convicted  him  of  forged  words.  What 
would  the  white  chief  do  to  recom 
pense  the  wrong  if  his  horses  were 
returned  ?  He  also  stated  that  it 
was  not  in  his  power  to  find  the 
horses,  and  that  only  the  young  man 
could  do  that. 

Springing  again  to  his  feet,  with 
all  the  animation  of  resolution,  the 

91 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Bat's  voice  clicked  in  savage  gut 
turals.  "Yes,  it  is  only  with  my 
self  that  the  white  liar  can  talk.  If 
the  chiefs  and  warriors  of  my  tribe 
were  to  take  off  my  hide  with  their 
knives — if  they  were  to  give  me  to 
the  Yellow-Eyes  to  be  burnt  with 
fire — I  could  not  tell  where  the 
ponies  lie  hidden.  My  medicine  will 
blind  your  eyes  as  does  the  north 
wind  when  he  comes  laden  with 
snow. 

"I  will  tell  the  white  man  how 
he  can  have  his  ponies  back.  He 
can  hand  over  to  me  now  the  bright 
new  gun  which  lies  by  his  side.  It 
is  a  pretty  gun,  better  than  any 
Indian  has.  With  it,  his  powder- 
horn  and  his  bullet-bag  must  go. 

If  he  does  this,  he    can   have   back 

92 


The  Eat  Devises  Mischief 

all  his  horses,  except  those  I  choose 
to  keep.  Is  it  good  ?  I  will  not 
say  it  again.  I  have  spoken." 

The  boy  warrior  stood  with  arms 
dropped  at  his  sides,  very  straight  in 
the  middle  of  the  tent,  the  light 
from  the  smoke  hole  illuminating 
the  top  of  his  body,  while  his  eye 
searched  the  traders. 

Mclntish  gazed  through  his  bushy 
eyebrows  at  the  victor.  His  burnt 
skin  turned  an  ashen-green ;  his  right 
hand  worked  nervously  along  his  gun- 
barrel.  Thus  he  sat  for  a  long  time, 
the  boy  standing  quietly,  and  no  one 
moved  in  the  lodge. 

With  many  arrested  motions,  Mc 
lntish  raised  the  rifle  until  it  rested  on 
its  butt;  then  he  threw  it  from  him 
self,  and  it  fell  with  a  crash  across 

93 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  dead  ashes  of  the  fire,  in  front  of 
the  Bat.  Stripping  his  powder-horn 
and  pouch  off  his  body,  violently  he 
flung  them  after,  and  the  Bat  quickly 
rescued  them  from  among  the  ashes. 
Gathering  the  tokens  and  girding 
them  about  his  body,  the  Bat  con 
tinued:  "If  the  white  liar  will  march 
up  this  river  one  day  and  stop  on  the 
big  meadows  by  the  log  house,  which 
has  no  fire  in  it ;  if  he  will  keep  his 
men  quietly  by  the  log  house,  where 
they  can  be  seen  at  all  times ;  if  he 
will  stay  there  one  day,  he  will  see 
his  ponies  coming  to  him.  I  am 
not  a  boy  ;  I  am  not  a  man  with 
two  tongues ;  I  am  a  warrior.  Go, 
now — before  the  camp-soldiers  beat 
you  with  sticks." 


94 


IV 

The  New   Lodge 


95 


IV 

The  New   Lodge 

f  I  ^HE  Yellow-Eyes  had  departed, 
A  and  at  the  end  of  four  days 
the  Bat  and  Red  Arrow  drove  a 
band  of  thirty  ponies  and  mules 
upon  the  herd-grounds,  where  they 
proceeded  to  cut  them  into  two 
bunches — fifteen  horses  for  each 
young  man.  This  was  not  a  bad  be 
ginning  in  life,  where  ponies  and 
robes  were  the  things  reckoned. 
The  Bat  got  down  from  his  horse 
and  tossed  a  little  brother  onto  it, 
telling  him  to  look  after  them.  The 
copper-colored  midget  swelled  per 
ceptibly  as  he  loped  away  after  the 

97 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Bat's  nineteen  horses,  for  the  twen 
tieth,  which  was  the  war- pony,  was 
taken  to  be  picketed  by  Big  Hair's 
Lodge. 

As  the  Bat  stalked  among  the 
Chis-chis-chash,  he  was  greeted  often 
— all  eyes  turned  to  him.  No  mere 
boys  dared  longer  to  be  familiar ; 
they  only  stood  modestly,  and  paid 
the  tribute  to  greatness  which  much 
staring  denotes.  The  white  man's 
new  rifle  lay  across  his  left  arm, 
his  painted  robe  dragged  on  the 
ground,  his  eagle-feather  waved  per 
pendicularly  above  the  dried  Bat's 
skin,  the  sacred  red  paint  of  war 
bloodied  his  whole  face,  and  a  rope 
and  a  whip — symbols  of  his  success 
with  horses — dangled  in  his  right 

hand,    while    behind    him    followed 

98 


The  New  Lodge 

the  smart  war-pony,  covered  with 
vermilion  hand-prints  as  thickly  as 
the  spots  on  a  brook-trout.  The 
squaws  ran  from  their  fleshing,  their 
chopping  or  their  other  work  to 
look  at  the  warrior  who  made  all 
the  camp  talk.  Wisdom  mellowed 
by  age,  in  the  forms  of  certain  old 
men,  sat  back  and  thought  disturb- 
edly  of  the  future,  as  is  the  wont 
of  those  who  have  little  time  to 
live.  They  feared  for  the  trade 
with  the  Yellow-Eyes,  for  no  Chis- 
chis-chash  could  forge  iron  into  guns 
and  knives,  which  were  the  arbiter 
between  the  tribes.  This  the  Bat 
had  brought  upon  them.  But  still 
they  thought  more  than  they  said ; 
warriors  as  promising  as  this  young 
one  did  not  often  appear. 

99 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

There  was  a  feast    at    the  lodge. 
The    Bat    told    his    exploits    to    the 
warriors,    as    he    strode    about    the 
night-fire  in   the  tepee,  waving   his 
arms,   giving   his   war-yell    until    he 
split  the  air  and  made  his  listeners' 
ears  ring.      The   medicine    Bat   had 
made    him    strong ;    it    had    opened 
the    way    and    he    had    proved    his 
faith.      He   sang  while  a  man  beat 
on  a  dried  skin  drum : 
"Hi-ha — s'  yeheV  yeyeM 
c  Hi-he — e'  yehe'  e'  yeyeM 
<Hi'  niso'  nihu'— Hi'  yeyeM 
<Hi'  niso'  nihu'— Hi'  yeyeM" 
And  the  yelping  chorus  came  from 
the  fire-lit  circle,  "Hi  ya — hi  ya— 
hi-  -ye'ye' !  — ya' — ya' — ya' — ya !  — 


e'  e'  e'. 


On  the   morrow,   men    from    the 

100 


The  New  Lodge 

military  order  of  the   "  red  lodges,"^ 
the  "miayuma,"  came    to    the    Bat  I 
with  charcoal,   and  he   fasted  many/ 
days  before  undergoing  his  initiationA 
The  sacred  symbols  of  the  body,  their  I 
signs    and    ceremonies,    were    given  \ 
him,  and  he  had  become  a  pillar  in 
the  Chis-chis-chash  social  structure.  J 

The  nights  were  growing  cold, 
and  occasional  bleak  winds  blew 
down  from  the  great  mountains, 
warning  the  tribe  to  be  about  its 
mission.  The  loads  of  dry  meat 
made  the  horses  weary,  when  the 
camp  was  broken;  the  tepee-poles 
were  bright  and  new,  and  the  hair 
began  to  grow  on  the  ponies. 

One  day,  as  they  moved,  they 
could  see  far  ahead  on  the  plains  the 
colorless  walls  of  Fort  Laramie,  and 


IOI 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  wise-men  feared  for  their  recep 
tion,  but  the  pillage  of  the  traders' 
horses  sat  lightly  on  the  people.  The 
Yellow-Eyes  should  have  a  care  how 
they  treated  the  Chis-chis-chash.  It 
was  in  their  power  to  put  out  the 
white  man's  fires.  The  Bat's  people 
were  an  arrogant  band,  and  held 
their  heads  high  in  the  presence  of 
aliens.  Their  hands  were  laid  heav 
ily  and  at  once  on  anyone  who  stood 
in  their  path.  All  the  plains  tribes, 
the  French  Indians  at  the  posts  and 
the  Yellow-Eyed  trapper-bands  stood 
in  awe  of  them.  With  the  excep 
tion  of  the  chief,  the  people  had 
never  been  inside  of  the  second  gate 
at  Laramie.  They  traded  through 
a  hole  in  the  wall,  and  even  then  the 
bourgeois  Papin  thought  he  played 


IO2 


The  New  Lodge 

with  fire.  Their  haughty  souls  did 
not  brook  refusal  when  the  trader 
denied  them  the  arrangement  of  the 
barter. 

The  tribe  encamped,  and  got  rid 
of  what  ponies,  robes  and  meats  it 
could  dispose  of  for  guns  and  steel 
weapons,  and  "made  whisky."  The 
squaws  concealed  the  arms  while  the 
warriors  raged,  but  the  Chis-chis- 
chash  in  that  day  were  able  to  with 
stand  the  new  vices  of  the  white  men 
better  than  most  people  of  the  plains. 

On  one  occasion,  the  Bat  was 
standing  with  a  few  chiefs  before  the 
gateway  of  the  fort.  M.  Papin 
opened  the  passage  and'  invited  them 
to  enter.  Proudly  the  tall  tribesmen 
walked  among  the  engages — seeming 

to  pay  no  heed,  but  the  eye  of  an 

103 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Indian  misses  nothing.  The  sur 
roundings  were  new  and  strange  to 
the  young  man.  The  thick  walls 
seemed  to  his  vagabond  mind  to  be 
built  to  shield  cowards.  The  white 
men  were  created  only  to  bring  goods 
to  the  Indians,  They  were  weak, 
but  their  medicine  was  wonderful. 
It  could  make  the  knives  and  guns, 
which  God  had  denied  to  the  Bat's 
people.  They  were  to  be  tolerated; 
they  were  few  in  number — he  had 
not  seen  over  a  hundred  of  them  in 
all  his  life.  Scattered  here  and  there 
about  the  post  were  women,  who 
consorted  with  the  engages — half- 
breeds  from  the  Mandaus  and  Dela- 
wares,  Sioux  and  many  other  kinds 
of  squaws;  but  the  Chis-chis-chash 

had    never    sold    a    woman     to    the 

104 


The  New  Lodge 

traders.       That    was    a    pride    with 
them. 

The  sisterhood  of  all  the  world 
will  look  at  a  handsome  man  and 
smile  pleasantly;  so  nothing  but 
cheerful  looks  followed  the  Bat  as 
he  passed  the  women  who  sat  work 
ing  by  the  doorways.  They  were 
not  ill-favored,  these  comforters  of 
the  French-Creole  workmen,  and 
were  dressed  in  bright  calicos  and 
red  strouding,  plentifully  adorned 
with  bright  beads.  The  boy  was 
beginning  to  feel  a  subtle  weakening 
in  their  presence.  His  fierce  bar 
barism  softened,  and  he  began  to 
think  of  taking  one.  But  he  put  it 
aside  as  a  weakness — this  giving  of 
ponies  for  these  white  men's  cast- 
offs.  That  thought  was  unworthy 

105 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

of  him — a  trade  was  not  his  wild 
way  of  possessing  things. 

He  stood  quietly  leaning  against  a 
door  on  Papin's  balcony,  observing 
the  men  laboring  about  the  enclosure, 
his  lip  curling  upward  with  fine  con 
tempt.  The  "dogs"  were  hewing 
with  axes  about  some  newly  made 
carts,  or  rushing  around  on  errands 
as  slaves  are  made  to  do.  Everyone 
was  busy  and  did  not  notice  him  in 
his  brown  study. 

From  within  the  room  near  by  he 
heard  a  woman  sing  a  few  notes  in 
an  unknown  tongue.  Without  mov 
ing  a  muscle  of  his  face  he  stepped 
inside  the  room,  and  when  his  eye 
became  accustomed  to  the  light,  saw 
a  young  squaw,  who  sat  beading,  and 

wore  a  dress  superior  to  that  of  the 

106 


The  New  Lodge 

others.  She  stared  a  moment  and 
then  smiled.  The  Bat  stood  motion 
less  for  a  long  time  regarding  her, 
and  she  dropped  her  gaze  to  her 
needlework. 

"F  nisto'  niwon  (You  were  hum 
ming),"  spoke  the  statued  brave,  but 
she  did  not  understand. 

Again  came  the  clicking  gutturals 
of  the  harsh  Chis-chis-chash  tongue: 
" Whose  squaw  are  you?" — which 
was  followed  by  the  sign-talk  familiar 
to  all  Indians  in  those  days. 

The  woman  rose,  opening  her 
hand  toward  him  and  hissing  for 
silence.  Going  to  the  door,  she 
looked  into  the  sunlighted  court, 
and,  pointing  to  the  factor  who 
was  directing  workmen,  replied, 

"Papin."      He  understood. 

107 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

She  talked  by  signs  as  she  drew 
back,  pointing  to  the  Bat,  and  then 
ran  her  hand  across  her  own  throat 
as  though  she  held  a  knife,  and 
then  laughed  while  her  eyes  sparkled. 

Again  he  understood,  and  for  the 
first  time  that  day  he  smiled.  There 
are  no  preliminaries  when  a  savage 
warrior  concludes  to  act.  The  ab 
ruptness  of  the  Bat's  love-making 
left  room  for  few  words,  and  his 
attentions  were  not  repulsed  except 
that  the  fear  of  her  liege  lord  out 
by  the  carts  made  her  flutter  to 
escape  that  she  might  reassure  her 
self.  She  was  once  again  covered 
by  the  sweep  of  the  warrior's  robe, 
and  what  they  whispered  there, 
standing  in  its  folds,  no  man  can 
tell.  The  abrupt  entrance  of  Pa- 

108 


The  New  Lodge 

pin  drowned  all  other  thoughts,  and 
filled  the  quiet  fort  with  a  whirl 
of  struggles  and  yells,  in  which  all 
joined,  even  to  the  dogs. 

The  outcome  was  that  the  Bat 
found  himself  thrown  ignominiously 
into  the  dust  outside  the  walls,  and 
the  gate  slammed  after  him.  He 
gathered  himself  together  and  looked 
around.  No  one  of  his  people  had 
seen  the  melee  from  which  he  had 
emerged  so  ingloriously,  yet  humil 
iation  was  terrible.  Nothing  like 
this  had  occurred  before.  Cowardly 
French  half-breeds  had  laid  their 
hands  on  the  warrior's  body,  even 
on  his  sacred  bat  and  eagle-plume; 
and  they  had  been  content  to  throw 
him  away  as  though  he  were  a 

bone — merely    to    be    rid    of   him. 

109 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

His  rage  was  so  great  that  he  was 
in  a  torpor;  he  did  not  even  speak, 
but  walked  away  hearing  the  shrieks 
of  the  squaw  being  beaten  by  Papin. 

Going  to  the  camp,  he  got  a 
pony  and  rode  to  the  hills,  where 
he  dismounted  and  sat  down.  The 
day  passed,  the  night  came,  and 
morning  found  the  Bat  still  sitting 
there. 

He  seemed  not  to  have  moved. 
His  eyes  burned  with  the  steady 
glare  of  the  great  cats  until,  allow 
ing  his  robe  to  fall  away,  he  brought 
out  his  firebag  and  lighted  his  pipe. 
Standing  up,  he  blew  a  mouthful 
of  smoke  to  each  of  the  four  cor 
ners  of  the  world;  then  lowered 
his  head  in  silence  for  a  long  while. 

He  had  recovered  himself  now.     The 

no 


The  New  Lodge 

Bat  no  longer  shrieked,  but  coun- 
ciled  coldly  for  revenge.  His  shad 
ow  beside  him  was  blood-red  as  he 
gazed  at  it. 

Presently  he  mounted  and  rode 
toward  camp;  his  eyes  danced  the 
devil's  dance  as  they  wandered  over 
the  battlements  of  Fort  Laramie. 
He  wanted  a  river  of  blood — he 
wanted  to  break  the  bones  of  the 
whites  with  stone  hatchets  —  he 
wanted  to  torture  with  fire.  He 
would  have  the  girl  now  at  any  cost. 

After  eating  at  Big  Hair's  lodge, 
he  wandered  over  to  the  Fort.  He 
said  not  a  word  to  anyone  as  he 
passed.  An  old  chief  came  out  of 
the  gate,  turned  the  corner,  saw  the 
Bat,  and  said:  "The  white  chief 
says  you  tried  to  steal  his  squaw. 


in 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

His  heart  is  cold  toward  our  people. 
He  will  no  longer  trade  with  us. 
What  have  you  done?" 

The  Bat's  set  eyes  gazed  at  the 
old  man,  and  he  made  no  reply,  but 
stood  leaning  against  the  walls  while 
the  chief  passed  on. 

No  one  noticed  him,  and  he  did 
not  move  for  hours.  He  was  un 
der  that  part  of  the  wall  behind 
which  was  the  room  of  the  woman, 
and  not  unexpectedly  he  heard  a 
voice  from  above  in  the  strange  lan 
guage  which  he  did  not  understand. 
Looking  up,  he  saw  that  she  was  on 
the  roof.  He  motioned  her  to  come 
down  to  him,  at  the  same  time  tak 
ing  his  rifle  from  under  his  robe. 

The  distance  was  four  times  her 
height,  but  she  quickly  produced  a 


I  12 


The  New  Lodge 

rawhide  lariat,  which  she  began  to 
adjust  to  a  timber  that  had  been  ex 
posed  in  the  roof,  dirt  having  been 
washed  away.  Many  times  she 
looked  back  anxiously,  fearful  of 
pursuit,  until,  testing  the  knot  and 
seeming  satisfied,  she  threw  her  body 
over  the  edge  and  slid  down. 

The  Bat  patted  her  on  the  back, 
and  instinctively  they  fled  as  fast  as 
the  woman  could  run  until  out  of 
rifle-shot,  when  her  new  brave  stayed 
her  flight  and  made  her  go  slowly 
that  they  might  not  attract  atten 
tion.  They  got  at  last  to  the  pony- 
herds,  where  the  Bat  found  his  little 
brother  with  his  bunch  of  ponies. 
Taking  the  cherished  war-pony  and 
two  others,  he  mounted  his  new 
woman  on  one,  while  he  led  the 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

other  beside  his  own.  They  gal 
loped  to  the  hills.  Looking  back 
over  the  intervening  miles  of  plain, 
their  sharp  eyes  could  see  people 
running  about  like  ants,  in  great 
perplexity  and  excitement.  Papin 
had  discovered  his  woes,  and  the  two 
lovers  laughed  loud  and  long.  He 
had  made  his  slaves  lay  violent  hands 
on  the  Bat  and  he  had  lashed  the 
girl,  Seet-se-be-a  (Mid-day  Sun), 
with  a  pony  whip,  but  he  had  lost 
his  woman. 

Much  as  the  Bat  yearned  to  steep 
his  hands  in  the  gore  of  Papin,  yet 
the  exigencies  of  the  girl's  escape 
made  it  impossible  now,  as  he  feared 
pursuit.  On  the  mountain-ridge 
they  stopped,  watching  for  the  pur 
suing  party  from  the  Fort,  but  the 

114 


The  New  Lodge 

Cheyennes  swarmed  around  and  evi 
dently  Papin  was  perturbed. 

So  they  watched  and  talked,  and 
fondled  each  other,  the  fierce  Chey 
enne  boy  and  Minataree  girl — for 
she  proved  to  be  of  that  tribe — and 
they  were  married  by  the  ancient 
rites  of  the  ceremony  of  the  Fastest 
Horse. 

Shortly  the  tribe  moved  away  to 
its  wintering  -  grounds,  the  young 
couple  following  after.  The  Bat 
lacked  the  inclination  to  stop  long 
enough  to  murder  Papin;  he  de 
ferred  that  to  the  gray  future,  when 
the  "  Mid-day  Sun  v  did  not  warm 
him  so. 

As  they  entered  the  lodges,  they 
were  greeted  with  answering  yells, 
and  the  sickening  gossip  of  his  mis- 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

adventure  at  Laramie  was  forgotten 
when  they  saw  his  willing  captive. 
The  fierce  old  women  swarmed 
around,  yelling  at  Seet-se-be-a  in 
no  complimentary  way,  but  the  fury 
of  possible  mothers-in-law  stopped 
without  the  sweep  of  the  Bat's  elk- 
horn  pony  whip. 

Before  many  days  there  was  a 
new  tepee  among  the  "  Red  Lodges," 
and  every  morning  Seet-se-be-a  set 
a  lance  and  shield  up  beside  the 
door,  so  that  people  should  know 
by  the  devices  that  the  Bat  lived 
there. 


116 


V 
"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows 


117 


"  The   Kites  and  the   Crows 


'T^HE  Bat  had  passed  the  boy 
•*•  stage.  He  was  a  Chis-chis- 
chash  warrior  now,  of  agile  body 
and  eager  mind.  No  man's  medi 
cine  looked  more  sharply  after  his 
physical  form  and  shadow-self  than 
did  the  Bat's  ;  no  young  man  was 
quicker  in  the  surround;  no  war- 
pony  could  scrabble  to  the  lariat 
ahead  of  his  in  the  races.  He  had 
borne  more  bravely  in  the  sun-dance 
than  all  others,  and  those  who  had 
done  the  ceremony  of  "  smoking  his 
shield"  had  heard  the  thick  bull's- 

hide  promise  that  no  arrow  or  bullet 

119 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

should  ever  reach  the  Bat.  He  lost 
the  contents  of  his  lodge  at  the  game 
of  the  plum-stones — all  the  robes 
that  Seet-se-be-a  had  fleshed  and 
softened,  but  more  often  his  squaw 
had  to  bring  a  pack-pony  down  to 
the  gamble  and  pile  it  high  with 
his  winnings.  He  was  much  looked 
up  to  in  the  warrior  class  of  the  Red 
Lodges,  which  contained  the  tried- 
out  braves  of  the  Cheyenne  tribe; 
moreover  old  men — wise  ones — 
men  who  stood  for  all  there  was  in 
the  Chis-chis-chash,  talked  to  him 
occasionally  out  of  their  pipes, 
throwing  measuring  glances  from 
under  lowering  brows  in  his  direc 
tion  to  feel  if  he  had  the  secret 
Power  of  the  Eyes. 

The  year   passed    until   the  snow 


120 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows " 

fell  no  longer  and  Big  Hair  said 
the  medicine  chiefs  had  called  it 
"The  Falling  Stars  Winter"  and 
had  painted  the  sign  on  the  sacred 
robes.  The  new  grass  changed  from 
yellow  to  a  green  velvet,  while  the 
long  hair  blew  off  the  horses'  hides 
in  bunches  and  their  shrunken  flanks 
filled  up  with  fat.  As  Nature  awoke 
from  the  chill  and  began  to  circulate 
the  Indians  responded  to  its  feel. 
They  stalked  among  the  pony  herds, 
saying  to  each  other:  "By  the  mid 
dle  of  the  moon  of  the  new  Elk 
Horns,  these  big  dogs  will  carry  us 
to  war.  There  the  enemy  will  know 
that  the  Chis-chis-chash  did  not  die 
in  the  snow.  There  will  be  blood 
in  our  path  this  grass." 

Red  Arrow  and    the    Bat   prayed 

121 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

often  together  to  the  Good  God  for 
fortune  in  war,  as  they  sat  in  the 
lodge  running  their  eyes  along  their 
arrows,  picking  those  which  were 
straightest,  and  singing: 

"  This  arrow  is  straight 
This  arrow  is  straight 
It  will  kill  us  a  man 
It  will  kill  us  a  man — " 

and  the  Bat  boasted  to  his  chum: 
"  When  I  come  to  the  enemy,  I  shall 
go  nearer  than  any  other  Red  Lodge 
man.  I  shall  have  more  scalps  to 
dance  and  no  bullet  or  arrow  can 
stop  the  Bat  when  he  strikes  his  pony 
with  the  whip."  Red  Arrow  be 
lieved  this  as  much  as  the  boaster 
did,  for  men  must  believe  they  will 
do  these  things  before  they  do  them. 
"Red  Arrow,  we  will  not  go  with  a 


122 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

big  war-party.  We  will  go  with 
Iron  Horn's  band  of  twenty  warriors. 
Then  next  winter  at  the  warriors' 
feasts  when  we  tell  what  we  did,  we 
will  count  for  something.  Red  Ar 
row,  we  will  see  for  the  first  time 
the  great  war-medicine." 

The  boys  of  the  camp  herded  the 
ponies  where  the  grass  was  strongest, 
and  the  warriors  watched  them  grow. 
It  was  the  policy  of  the  tribe  to  hang 
together  in  a  mass,  against  the  com 
ing  of  the  enemy,  for  the  better  pro 
tection  of  the  women  and  the  little 
ones,  but  no  chiefs  or  councils  were 
strong  enough  to  stop  the  yearning 
of  the  young  Cheyennes  for  military 
glory.  All  self-esteem,  all  applause, 
all  power  and  greatness,  came  only 

down    that    fearful    road — the    war 

123 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

trail.  Despite  the  pleadings  of  tribal 
policy  Iron  Horn,  a  noted  war-  and 
mystery-man,  secretly  organized  his 
twenty  men  for  glorious  death  or 
splendid  triumph.  Their  orders 
went  forth  in  whispers.  "By  the 
full  of  the  moon  at  the  place  where 
the  Drowned  Buffalo  water  tumbled 
over  the  rocks  one  day's  pony-travel 
to  the  west." 

Not  even  Seet-se-be-a  knew  why 
the  Bat  was  not  sitting  back  against 
his  willow-mat  in  the  gray  morning 
when  she  got  up  to  make  the  kettle 
boil,  but  she  had  a  woman's  instinct 
which  made  her  raise  the  flap  to  look 
out.  The  two  war-ponies  were  gone. 
Glancing  again  behind  the  robes  of 
his  bed  she  saw,  too,  that  the  oiled 

rifle  was  missing.      Quickly  she  ran 

124 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

to  the  lodge  of  Red  Arrow's  father, 
wailing,  "My  man  has  gone,  my 
man  has  gone — his  fast  ponies  are 
gone — his  gun  is  gone,"  and  all  the 
dogs  barked  and  ran  about  in  the 
shadows  while  Red  Arrow's  mother 
appeared  in  the  hole  in  the  tepee, 
also  wailing,  "My  boy  has  gone, 
my  boy  has  gone,"  and  the  village 
woke  up  in  a  tumult.  Everyone 
understood.  The  dogs  barked,  the 
women  wailed,  the  children  cried, 
the  magpies  fluttered  overhead 
while  the  wolves  answered  back 
in  piercing  yells  from  the  plains 
beyond. 

Big  Hair  sat  up  and  filled  his  pipe. 
He  placed  his  medicine-bag  on  the 
pole  before  him  and  blew  smoke  to 

the  four  sides  of  the  earth  and  to  the 

125 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

top  of  the  lodge  saying:  "Make  my 
boy  strong.  Make  his  heart  brave, 
O  Good  Gods — take  his  pony  over 
the  dog-holes — make  him  see  the 
enemy  first ! >r  Again  he  blew  the 
smoke  to  the  deities  and  continued 
to  pray  thus  for  an  hour  until  the 
sun-lit  camp  was  quiet  and  the  chiefs 
sat  under  a  giant  cotton-wood,  devis 
ing  new  plans  to  keep  the  young  men 

at  home. 

• 

Meanwhile  from  many  points  the 
destined  warriors  loped  over  the 
rolling  landscape  to  the  rendezvous. 
Tirelessly  all  day  long  they  rose  and 
fell  as  the  ponies  ate  up  the  distance 
to  the  Drowned  Buffalo,  stopping 
only  at  the  creeks  to  water  the 
horses.  By  twos  and  threes  they 

met,    galloping     together — speaking 

126 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows " 

not.  The  moon  rose  big  and  red 
over  their  backs,  the  wolves  stopped 
howling  and  scurried  to  one  side— 
the  ceaseless  thud  of  the  falling  hoofs 
continued  monotonously,  broken 
only  by  the  crack  of  a  lash  across  a 
horse's  flank. 

At  midnight  the  faithful  twenty 
men  were  still  seated  in  a  row  around 
Iron  Horn  while  the  horses,  too  tired 
to  eat,  hung  their  heads.  The  old 
chief  dismissed  his  war-party  saying: 
"To-morrow  we  will  make  the  mys 
tery — we  will  find  out  whether  the 
Good  Gods  will  go  with  us  to  war 
or  let  us  go  alone." 

Sunrise  found  the  ponies  feeding 
quietly,  having  recovered  themselves, 
while  the  robed  aspirants  sat  in  a 

circle;  the  grass  having  been  removed 

127 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

from  the  enclosed  space  and  leveled 
down. 

A  young  man  filled  the  long  med 
icine-pipe  and  Iron  Horn  blew  sacri 
ficial  puffs  about  him,  passing  it  in, 
saying:  "Let  no  man  touch  the  pipe 
who  has  eaten  meat  since  the  begin 
ning  of  the  last  sun.  If  there  are 
any  such  he  must  be  gone — the  Good 
Gods  do  not  speak  to  full  men."  But 
the  pipe  made  its  way  about  the  ring 
without  stopping. 

Iron  Horn  then  walked  behind  the 
circle  sticking  up  medicine-arrows 
in  the  earth — arrows  made  sacred  by 
contact  with  the  Great  Medicine  of 
the  Chis-chis-chash  and  there  would 
hold  the  Bad  Gods  in  check  while 
the  Good  Gods  counseled. 

Resuming  his  seat,  he  spoke  in  a 

128 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows " 

harsh,  guttural  clicking:  "What  is 
said  in  this  circle  must  never  be 
known  to  any  man  who  does  not  sit 
here  now.  The  Bad  Gods  will  hear 
what  the  Good  Gods  say  in  such  an 
event  and  the  man  who  tells  against 
them  will  be  deserted  by  the  Good 
Gods  forever.  Every  man  must  tell 
all  his  secrets — all  the  things  he  has 
thought  about  his  brothers  since  the 
last  war-medicine ;  all  the  things  he 
has  done  with  the  women  of  the 
tribe;  all  that  the  Gods  have  whis 
pered  in  his  dreams.  He  must  tell 
all  and  forever  say  no  more,"  and 
Iron  Horn  rested  on  his  words  for  a 
moment  before  continuing  his  con 
fession. 

"  Brothers,  I  am  a  great  medicine 
man — no    arrow  can    touch    me — I 

129 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

do  not  fear  men.  I  am  too  old  for 
the  women  to  look  upon.  I  did  not 
say  it  at  the  time  but  when  the  sun 
was  low  on  the  land  last  winter  I 
made  it  turn  blue  for  a  time.  I 
made  it  cold  in  the  land.  Our  horses 
were  poor  and  when  I  made  the 
sun  blue  we  crusted  the  buffalo  and 
killed  many  with  our  lances.  Broth 
ers,  it  was  I  who  made  the  sun  blue 
in  the  winter. 

"  Brothers,  I  love  you  all — I  shall 
say  no  more,"  and  Iron  Horn  threw 
tobacco  on  the  earth  in  front  of 
him. 

A  young  man  next  to  him  dropped 
his  robe  from  about  his  body  and 
with  fierce  visage  spoke  excitedly,  for 
it  was  his  first  confession,  and  his 

Indian    secretiveness    was     straining 

130 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows " 

under  the  ordeal.  It  was  mostly 
about  gallantries  and  dreams  —  all 
made  like  the  confessions  which  fol 
lowed.  They  were  the  deeds  and 
thoughts  common  to  young  Indian 
men.  They  ministered  to  the  cu 
riosity  of  people  whose  world  lay 
within  the  camping  circle  of  their 
small  tribe,  and  they  were  as  truth 
ful  as  a  fear  of  God  could  make  them, 
except  the  dreams,  and  they  too  were 
real  to  the  Indian  mind. 

The  men  now  began  to  paint  them 
selves  and  to  take  their  paraphernalia 
from  their  war-bags  and  put  it  on. 
Iron  Horn  said:  " Brothers — when  it 
is  dark  I  will  put  a  medicine-arrow 
into  the  ground  where  my  feet  are 
now,  and  if  in  the  morning  it  has 
not  moved  we  will  go  back  to  the 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

lodges;  but  if  it  has  moved,  we  will 
go  in  the  direction  in  which  it  points. 
"  When  we  start  toward  the  enemy 
no  man  must  eat,  drink  or  sit  down 
by  day,  no  matter  how  long  or  fa 
tiguing  the  march;  if  he  halts  for  a 
moment  he  must  turn  his  face  toward 
his  own  country  so  that  the  Gods  may 
see  that  it  is  his  wish  to  return  there. 
We  must  sleep  with  our  own  faces 
toward  our  village.  No  two  men 
must  lie  covered  by  the  same  robe. 
He  must  not  ride  or  walk  in  a  beaten 
path  lest  the  spirit  of  the  path  go 
running  on  ahead  of  us  to  warn  the 
enemy,  and  if  by  chance  we  do,  we 
must  come  to  the  big  medicine  and 
rub  it  on  the  horses'  legs  to  ward  off 
the  danger."  This  said,  Iron  Horn 

said  much  more  to  his  young  braves 

132 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

—all  the  demon  fears  which  the  sav 
age  mind  conjures  up  in  its  contact 
with  the  supernatural,  together  with 
stated  forms  of  decorations  to  be 
painted  on  the  ponies,  and  then  he 
dismissed  them,  saying:  "Come  to 
the  circle  before  the  moon  rises  while 
it  is  yet  dark,  but  meanwhile  sit  each 
man  alone  and  in  silence  and  we  will 
see  what  the  Good  Gods  do  with  the 


arrows.' 


The  warriors  led  their  ponies  off 
to  various  points  in  the  savage  gorge 
and  sat  motionless  the  live-long  day 
while  the  river  rushed  ceaselessly  over 
the  wild  rocks  and  the  ravens  soared 
in  the  blue  heavens. 

By  night  they  came  gliding  back 
— picking  their  way  among  the  rocks 
and  stood  by  the  bared  earth  of  the 

'33 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

mystery  place.  The  chief  struck  a 
light  and  bending  over  saw  the  arrow 
lying  out  in  the  middle  of  the  space 
many  feet  away  from  where  he  had 
placed  it.  The  smooth  earth  was 
dotted  by  the  tracks  of  coyotes  but 
the  arrow  pointed  nearly  southwest, 
and  it  was  the  way  they  must  take. 
Rising,  he  pointed,  saying:  "The 
Good  Gods  say  we  must  go  this  way 
— where  they  point.  The  medicine 
is  strong — the  Gods  sent  their  little 
medicine-wolves  to  show  us. 

"  We  will  make  the  sacrifices  and 
then  we  will  go.  We  shall  strike 
the  enemy." 

They  struck  a  pole  in  the  center 
of  the  circle,  and  when  the  moon 
rose  each  warrior  approached  it  and 
either  hung  some  piece  of  rag  or 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

buckskin  on  it  or  put  various  im 
plements  at  its  foot,  muttering  mean 
while  prayers  for  protection  and  suc 
cess  and  rubbing  the  pole  with  his 
weapons  to  vitalize  them  spiritually. 

By  the  full  light  of  the  moon  the 
mounted  men,  each  leading  a  horse, 
rode  slowly  off  one  after  the  other, 
into  the  hills,  and  they  did  not  halt 
until  nearly  morning  when  they 
again  sat  in  a  magic  circle  and  took 
heed  of  the  medicine-arrows  before 
lying  down  to  sleep  in  a  long  row, 
facing  toward  the  village. 

The  day  following  found  the  small 
war-party  advancing  cautiously,  pre 
ceded  far  in  advance  on  its  flanks  by 
watchful  scouts.  They  were  all  eyes 
for  any  hunting  bands  of  Utes  or 
Shoshones  and  might  see  the  Yellow- 

'35 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Eyes  trooping  along  in  a  line  as  the 
ducks  fly. 

For  days  marched  the  band,  wind 
ing  through  the  hills  or  splashing 
through  the  flat  river  until  early  one 
morning  they  observed  one  of  the 
scouts  far  in  advance  flashing  a  look 
ing-glass  from  a  hilltop.  Lashing 
their  horses  they  bore  on  toward  him, 
dashing  down  the  cut  banks  at  reck 
less  speed  or  clambering  up  them 
helter-skelter.  No  inequalities  of 
ground  opposed  their  desperate  speed. 

Arriving  at  the  place  they  rode 
boldly  up  to  the  mounted  scout  and 
far  down  on  the  plains  saw  three 
Yellow-Eyes  driving  twelve  pack- 
animals  heavily  loaded.  They  paused 
to  repaint  their  faces  and  put  the 

sacred  war-marks  on  the  ponies,  not 

136 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows " 

forgetting  to  tie  up  their  tails  before 
continuing  the  mad  charge.  The 
poor  beaver-hunters  saw  the  on-com 
ing,  knew  their  danger  and  instantly 
huddled  their  horses  and  began  drop 
ping  their  packs.  They  had  selected 
a  slight  knoll  of  the  prairie  and 
before  many  minutes  had  a  rude  bar 
ricade  constructed  with  their  pack 
ages.  Dropping  behind  this  they 
awaited  the  Indians  with  freshly 
primed  rifles  and  pistols. 

The  Chis-chis-chash  rode  in  a  per 
fect  line  and  when  within  a  hundred 
yards  gave  shrill  ki-yi's,  lashed  their 
whips  and  the  ponies  clattered  through 
the  dust.  It  would  be  all  over  with 
the  three  luckless  trappers  in  an  in 
stant.  When  nearly  half  the  dis 
tance  had  been  consumed  three  rifles 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

cracked.  Iron  Horn  and  another 
warrior  reeled  on  their  mounts  but 
clung  desperately,  stopping  in  no 
way  the  rush.  In  an  instant  when 
it  seemed  as  if  the  Indians  were  about 
to  trample  the  Yellow-Eyes,  a  thin 
trail  of  fire  ran  along  the  grass  from 
the  barricade  and  with  a  blinding 
flash  a  keg  of  powder  exploded  with 
terrific  force  right  under  the  front 
feet  of  the  rushing  ponies.  Pistols 
cracked  from  behind  the  pile  of  roped 
goods.  Four  ponies  lay  kicking  on 
the  grass  together  with  six  writhing 
men,  all  blackened,  bleeding  and 
scorched.  The  other  ponies  reeled 
away  from  the  shock — running  hope 
lessly  from  the  scene  with  their  un 
resting  and  half-stunned  riders.  All 
but  one,  for  the  Bat  pulled  desper- 

138 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

ately  at  his  hair-lariat  which  was  tied 
to  the  under  jaw  of  the  horse,  strik 
ing  his  pony  across  the  head  with  his 
elk-horn  whip,  and,  lashing  fiercely, 
he  rushed  the  pony  right  to  the  bar 
ricade.  Firing  his  rifle  into  it  swerv 
ing,  he  struck  the  bunch  of  trapper- 
horses  which  had  already  begun  to 
trot  away  from  the  turbulent  scene, 
and  drove  them  off  in  triumph. 
He  alone  had  risen  superior  to  the 
shock  of  the  white  man's  fire  trap. 

Four  of  the  wounded  Indians  got 
slowly  to  their  feet,  one  after  the 
other,  and  walked  painfully  away. 
The  whites  had  reloaded  meanwhile 
and  fatally  shot  the  last  man  as  he 
was  nearly  out  of  range. 

When  the  defeated  party  came  to 
gether,  it  made  a  mystic  circle  in  the 

139 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

turf  of  open  prairie,  not  over  three 
arrow  flights  from  the  Yellow-Eyes, 
and  there  sat  down.  In  the  center 
lay  the  Indian  dead  and  three  more, 
sightless,  with  their  hair  singed  off 
and  their  bodies  horribly  scorched, 
while  Iron  Horn  was  stretched  on  a 
blanket,  shot  through  the  body  and 
singing  weakly  his  death-song. 

"Let  the  Bat  take  the  medicine — 
he  is  a  strong  warrior — the  bursting 
fire  did  not  stop  him.  He  ate  the 
fire.  I  am  a  great  warrior — I  am  a 
great  medicine-man,  but  I  could  not 
eat  the  fire.  Brothers,  the  scalps  of 
the  beaver  hunters  must  dry  in  the 
Red  Lodges."  Then  the  dying  war 
rior  became  incoherent  and  scarcely 
mumbled.  The  Bat  took  black 

paint  from  his  fire  bag  and  rubbed 

140 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

it  on  the  face  of  the  dying  man  while 
the  decreased  circle  of  warriors  yelped 
the  death-cry  dolorously.  For  an 
hour  this  continued,  rising  and  rising 
in  scales  until  the  sadness  had  changed 
to  fury.  The  Bat  held  the  medicine 
toward  the  sun  saying  "Mia-yu-ma 
— nis  heva — la  ma — nih.  Nis  tako 
navero  na'  hiko'  no  hi  (Red  Lodges 
— he  has  taken  pity  on  us — he  will 
make  you  strong — I  am  strong)." 

They  took  the  dead  and  wounded 
and  deposited  them  near  where  the 
led-horses  were  kept.  The  injured 
men  were  attended  to,  and  the  dead 
buried  carefully  in  robes. 

"One  warrior  lies  dead  near  the 
feet  of  Yellow-Eyes;  if  they  get  his 
scalp  he  will  go  to  the  hungry  islands 

iu  the  middle  of  the  Big  Water  and 

141 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

we  shall  never  see  him  in  the  spirit- 
land.  We  must  not  let  them  touch 
his  hair,  brothers.  If  the  Yellow- 
Eyes  come  from  behind  their  packs 
we  must  charge — we  must  eat  the 
flying  fire  or  all  be  rubbed  out.  If 
they  do  not  come  out  the  ravens  will 
not  have  to  wait  long  for  the  feast." 
Thus  said  the  Bat.  He  had  kept  his 
word  about  going  farther  toward  the 
enemy  than  any  other  and  was  now 
moved  to  resort  to  strategy.  He  did 
not  martial  his  warriors  in  a  line  but 
deployed  them  about  the  citadel  of 
the  plains.  That  place,  robbed  of  its 
horrors,  gave  no  sign  of  life  except 
a  burned  and  injured  pony  which 
half  raised  itself  and  slowly  moved 
its  head  from  side  to  side  in  its 

agony.       But    behind    it    there    was 

142 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

promise  of  deadly  rifles  and  the 
bursting  fire. 

The  warriors  stood  like  vultures 
on  the  plains,  by  twos  and  threes, 
smoking  and  feeding  their  ponies 
from  their  lariats.  They  spoke  of 
the  chief  no  longer  as  the  Bat,  but 
called  him  "  Fire  Eater,"  or  "The 
man  who  eats  the  flying  fire."  The 
ravens  hovered  about  the  place  and 
wise  gray  wolves  sat  haunched  in  a 
still  larger  ring  without.  Slowly  the 
sun  moved  across  the  heavens.  The 
scene  was  quiet  and  pitiful. 

Night  came  on,  but  nothing  hap 
pened.  Before  the  moon  rose  out  of 
the  darkness  a  rifle  flashed  behind  the 
bales,  when  again  the  quiet  became 
intensified  by  the  explosion.  The 
wolves  sang  their  lullaby  of  death, 

H3 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

but  on  the  prairie  that  was  as  the 
ceaseless,  peaceful  surging  of  the 
waves  on  the  ocean  sand. 

When  the  warriors  returned  in 
small  parties  to  their  camp  for  re 
freshment  they  saw  the  dead  body 
of  Owl  Bear — he  who  had  fallen 
outside  the  barricade  of  the  Yellow- 
Eyes.  The  "Fire  Eater"  had  brought 
it  in  during  the  night — having  ap 
proached  and  carried  it  away — draw 
ing  the  fire  of  the  rifle  but  saving 
the  hair  and  shadow-self  of  his 
brother. 

For  seven  days  the  Chis-chis-chash 
stood  about  the  doomed  place.  Twice 
they  had  approached  it  and  had  lost 
another  warrior,  shot  by  the  fatal 
rifle  of  the  beaver-men.  Then  they 

had  drawn  off  and  given  up  in  the 

144 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

face  of  the  deadly  shooting — con 
cluding  to  let  nature  work  for  the 
victory. 

Becoming  eager  and  restless  on  the 
last  day,  the  "Fire  Eater"  wounded 
the  white  war -party.  Splendidly 
painted  and  with  feather  hanging 
from  his  tail,  he  galloped  out  toward 
the  fort.  His  brothers,  seeing  this 
rashness,  closed  in  with  him,  but  no 
sign  of  life  came  from  the  strong 
hold. 

Boldly  he  rode  up  to  the  edge  of 
the  bales  of  goods,  and  glancing 
over  saw  the  swelled  and  blackened 
bodies  of  the  three  beaver  men  and 
knew  by  the  skinned  lips  and  staring 
eyes  that  thirst  had  done  its  work. 
The  braves  gathered,  but  no  man 
dismounted  and  one  by  one  they 

HS 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

turned  and  rode  away.  "The  bad 
spirits  of  the  dead  may  get  into  our 
bodies — come  away — come  away — 
the  sun  shines  now,  but  we  must  be 
far  away  when  the  night  sets  in. 
Our  medicine-arrows  will  keep  them 
off  after  that,"  said  the  Fire  Eater. 

Much  cast  down  the  Red  Lodge 
warriors  gathered  up  their  dead  and 
rode  slowly  back  toward  the  village. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  day 
the  Cheyennes  awoke  to  find  the 
Fire  Eater  gone,  but  he  had  left  his 
horses  on  their  hands.  "The  young 
chief's  heart  is  bad.  He  has  gone 
away  by  himself.  He  will  not  want 
us  to  follow  him.  He  cannot  go 
into  the  village  with  our  dead  and 
wear  the  mourning  paint,"  whispered 

they,  one  to  another. 

146 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

This  was  true — for  the  fierce  spirit 
of  the  young  man  could  not  brook 
defeat.  The  Chis-chis-chash  should 
never  see  blackened  ashes  on  a  cheek 
which  was  only  fitted  for  the  red 
paint.  The  shield  of  the  Fire  Eater 
should  never  face  to  the  lance — the 
little  brown  bat  flapped  fiercely  in 
the  wind  and  screamed  for  blood  and 
scalp  braids.  The  warrior  traveled 
lazily  on  his  journey — light-hearted 
and  fiercely  resolved. 

After  many  days  of  wolfish  travel 
he  saw  signs  of  the  vicinage  of  the 
Shoshone  Indians.  They  were  a 
hungry  band  who  had  come  out  of 
the  mountains  and  were  hunting  the 
buffalo.  He  followed  the  pony 
tracks  where  they  were  not  lost  in 
the  buffalo's  trails,  finding  picked 

H7 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

bones,  bits  of  castaway  clothing  and 
other  signs  until  he  saw  the  scouts 
of  the  enemy  riding  about  the  hills. 
Approaching  carefully  in  the  early 
night  and  morning  he  found  the 
camp  and  lay  watching  for  depres 
sions  in  the  fall  of  some  bluffs.  But 
the  young  men  were  ceaselessly  ac 
tive,  and  he  did  not  see  an  oppor 
tunity  to  approach.  During  the 
night  he  withdrew  to  a  pine- clad 
rocky  fortress  which  promised  better 
concealment,  and  his  surprise  was 
great  in  the  morning  to  see  the  Sho- 
shones  preparing  to  make  a  buffalo- 
surround  in  the  valley  immediately 
in  front  of  him.  From  all  direc 
tions  they  came  and  encompassed 
the  buffalo  below. 

The  Fire  Eater  carefully  pressed 

148 


"  The  Kites  and  the  Crows  " 

down  the  tuft  of  loose  hair  which 
sat  upright  on  the  crown  of  his  head 
after  the  manner  of  his  people,  and 
leaving  his  rifles  he  walked  down 
toward  the  seething  dust-blown  jum 
ble  where  the  hunters  were  shearing 
their  bewildered  game.  No  one  no 
ticed  him,  and  the  dust  blew  over 
him  from  the  milling  herd.  Pres 
ently  a  riderless  pony  came  by,  and 
seizing  its  lariat  he  sprang  on  its 
back.  He  rode  through  the  whirl 
ing  dust  into  the  surround  and 
approaching  an  excited  and  preoccu 
pied  Shoshone  stabbed  him  repeat 
edly  in  the  back.  The  Indian  yelled, 
but  no  one  paid  any  attention  in  the 
turmoil.  The  Fire  Eater  slung  his 
victim  across  his  pony,  taking  his 

scalp.     He  seized  his  lance  and  pony 

149 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

and  rode  slowly  away  toward  the 
bluffs.  After  securing  his  rifle  he 
gained  the  timber  and  galloped  away. 

On  his  road  he  met  a  belated  scout 
of  the  enemy  coming  slowly  on  a 
jaded  horse.  This  man  suspected 
nothing  until  the  Fire  Eater  raised 
his  rifle,  when  he  turned  away  to  fly. 
It  was  too  late  and  a  second  scalp 
soon  dangled  at  the  victor's  belt. 
He  did  not  take  the  tired  horse  for 
it  was  useless. 

Swiftly  he  rode  now  for  he  knew 
that  pursuit  was  sure,  but  if  one  was 
instituted  it  never  came  up  and  be 
fore  many  days  the  Cheyennes  rode 
along  his  own  tepees,  waving  the 
emblem  of  his  daring,  and  the  camp 
grew  noisy  with  exultation.  The 

mourning    paint   was    washed    from 

150 


"  The  Fire  Eater  slung  his  victim  across  his  pony,  taking 
his  scalp." 


"The  Kites  and  the  Crows" 

each  face  and  the  old  pipe-men  said: 
"The  Bat  will  be  a  great  leader  in 
war — his  medicine  is  very  strong  and 
he  eats  fire."  The  chiefs  and  coun 
cil  withheld  their  discipline,  and  the 
Fire  Eater  grew  to  be  a  great  man 
in  the  little  world  of  the  Chis-chis- 
chash,  though  his  affairs  proportion 
ately  were  as  the  "Battles  of  the 
Kites  and  Crows." 


VI 

The  Fire   Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 


'53 


VI 

The   Fire   Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

^  I  AHE  Chis-chis-chash  had  remem- 
bered  through  many  "  green 
grasses"  that  the  Fire  Eater  had 
proven  himself  superior  to  the  wrath 
of  the  Bad  Gods  who  haunt  the  way 
of  the  men  who  go  out  for  what  the 
Good  Gods  offer — the  ponies,  the 
women  and  the  scalps.  He  had  be 
come  a  sub-chief  in  the  Red  Lodge 
military  clan.  He  had  brought  many 
painted  war-bands  into  the  big  camp 
with  the  scalps  of  their  tribal  ene 
mies  dangling  from  their  lance  heads. 
The  village  had  danced  often  over 
the  results  of  his  victories.  Four 

'55 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

wives  now  dressed  and  decorated  his 
buffalo  robes.  The  seams  of  his 
clothes  were  black  with  the  hair  of 
his  enemies,  as  he  often  boasted,  and 
it  required  four  boys  to  herd  his  po 
nies.  His  gun  was  reddened,  and 
there  were  twenty-four  painted  pipes 
on  his  shield  indicative  of  the  num 
bers  who  had  gone  down  before  him 
in  war.  In  the  time  of  the  ceremo 
nies,  his  chief's  war-bonnet  dragged 
on  the  ground  and  was  bright  with 
the  painted  feathers  which  belonged 
to  a  victor.  He  hated  the  Yellow- 
Eyes,  not  going  often  to  their  posts 
for  trade,  and  like  a  true  Indian  war 
rior  he  despised  a  beaver  trap.  It 
was  conceded  by  old  men  that  time 
would  take  the  Fire  Eater  near  to 

the  head  chieftainship,   while  at   all 

156 


The  Fire  Rater  s  Bad  Medicine 

times  the  young  men  were  ready  to 
follow  him  to  the  camp  of  the  foe. 

One  day  in  the  time  of  the  Yel 
low-grass  the  Fire  Eater  had  sat  for 
hours,  without  moving,  beside  his 
tepee,  looking  vacantly  out  across  the 
hills  and  speaking  to  no  human  being. 
His  good  squaws  and  even  his  much 
cherished  children  went  about  the 
camping-space  quietly,  not  caring  to 
disturb  the  master.  He  was  tired 
of  the  lazy  sunshine  of  home ;  the 
small  cackle  of  his  women,  one  to 
another,  annoyed  him ;  he  was  strong 
with  the  gluttony  of  the  kettle  which 
was  ever  boiling ;  the  longing  for 
fierce  action  and  the  blood-thirst  had 
taken  possession  of  him.  Many 
times  he  reached  up  with  his  hand 
to  the  crown  of  his  head  and  patted 

'57 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  skin  of  the  little  brown  bat, 
which  was  his  medicine.  This  con 
stantly  talked  to  him  in  his  brown 
study,  saying:  "Look — look  at  the 
war-ponies — the  big  dogs  are  fat  and 
kick  at  each  other  as  they  stand  on 
the  lariats.  They  are  saying  you  are 
too  old  for  them ;  they  are  saying 
that  the  Fire  Eater  will  ride  on  a 
travvis.  They  think  that  the  red 
hands  will  no  more  be  painted  on 
their  flanks." 

But  the  warrior,  still  with  his 
sleepy  dog-stare  fixed  on  the  vacant 
distance,  answered  the  bat -skin: 
"  We  will  seek  the  help  of  the  Good 
Gods  to-night ;  we  will  see  if  the 
path  is  clear  before  us.  My  shadow 
is  very  black  beside  me  here — I  am 

strong."      Thus  the  Indian  and  his 

158 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

medicine  easily  agreed  with  each 
other  in  these  spiritual  conversations 
— which  thing  gave  the  Fire  Eater 
added  respect  for  the  keeper  of  his 
body  and  his  shadow-self. 

Far  into  the  night  the  preoccupied 
Indian  leaned  against  his  resting-mat 
watching  the  little  flames  leaping 
from  the  split  sticks  as  his  youngest 
squaw  laid  them  on  the  fire.  The 
flickering  yellows  sang  to  him : 

"  The  fire  does  not  sit  still, 
The  fire  does  not  sit  still — 
Come,  brother,  take  up  the  pony-whip, 
Come,  brother,  take  up  the  pony-whip," 

and  much  more  that  was  soothing  to 
his  mood. 

After  a  time  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  drove  the  woman  out  of  the 
lodge.  Untying  his  war-bags  he 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

produced  a  white  buffalo-robe  and 
arranged  it  to  sit  on.  This  was 
next  to  the  bat-skin  his  strongest 
protector.  When  seated  on  it  he 
lost  contact  with  the  earth — he  was 
elevated  above  all  its  influences. 
Having  arranged  his  gun,  shield  and 
war-bonnet  over  certain  medicine- 
arrows  the  sacred  bat-skin  was  placed 
on  top.  This  last  had  in  the  lapse 
of  years  been  worn  to  a  mere  shred 
and  was  now  contained  in  a  neat 
buckskin  bag  highly  ornamented  with 
work  done  by  squaws.  Lighting  his 
medicine-pipe,  after  having  filled  it 
in  the  formal  manner  due  on  such 
occasions,  he  blew  the  sacrificial 
whiffs  to  the  four  corners  of  the 
world,  to  the  upper  realms  and  to 

the  lower  places  and  then  addressed 

1 60 


The  Fire  Eaters  Bad  Medicine 

the  Good  Gods.  All  the  mundane 
influences  had  departed — even  his 
body  had  been  left  behind.  He  was 
in  communion  with  the  spirit  world 
-lost  in  the  expectancy  of  revela 
tion.  He  sang  in  monotonous  lines, 
repeating  his  extemporizations  after 
the  Indian  manner,  and  was  address 
ing  the  Thunder  Being — the  great 
bird  so  much  sought  by  warriors. 
He  sat  long  before  his  prayers  were 
heeded,  but  at  last  could  hear  the 
rain  patter  on  the  dry  sides  of  the 
tepee  and  he  knew  that  the  Thunder 
Bird  had  broken  through  the  air  to 
let  the  rain  fall.  A  great  wind 
moaned  through  the  encampment 
and  in  crushing  reverberations  the 
Thunder  Bird  spoke  to  the  Fire 

Eater:    "Go — go  to  the  Absaroke — 

161 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

take  up  your  pony-whip — your  gun 
wants  to  talk  to  them— your  ponies 
squeal  on  the  ropes — your  bat  says 
no  arrow  or  bullet  can  find  him — 
you  will  find  me  over  your  head  in 
time  of  danger.  When  you  hear 
me  roar  across  the  sky  and  see  my 
eyes  flash  fire — sit  down  and  be  still 
— I  am  driving  your  enemies  back. 
When  you  come  again  back  to  the 
village  you  must  sacrifice  many  robes 
and  ponies  to  me."  Lower  and 
lower  spoke  the  great  bird  as  he 
passed  onward — the  rain  ceased  to 
beat — the  split  sticks  no  longer 
burned — the  Fire  Eater  put  up  the 
sacred  things  and  was  alone  in  the 
darkness. 

In   the  early  morning  the  devotee 

stalked  over  to  the  great  war-prophet 

162 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

— a  mystery  man  of  the  tribe  who 
could  see  especially  far  on  contem 
plated  war-paths.  The  sun  was  bright 
when  they  were  done  with  their  con 
versation,  but  the  signs  were  favorable 
to  the  spirit  of  war.  The  Thunder 
Bird  had  on  the  preceding  night  also 
told  the  war-prophet  that  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  had  sat  too  long  in  their 
lodges,  which  was  the  reason  why  he 
had  come  to  urge  activity. 

Accordingly — without  having 
gone  near  the  boiled  meat — the  Fire 
Eater  took  the  war-pipe  around  the 
Red  Lodges  and  twenty  young  men 
gladly  smoked  it.  In  council  of  the 
secret  clan  the  war-prophet  and  the 
sub-chief  voiced  for  war.  The  old 
chiefs  and  the  wise  men  grown  stiff 

from  riding  and  conservative  toward 

163 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

a  useless  waste  of  young  warriors, 
blinked  their  beady  eyes  in  protest 
but  they  did  not  imperil  their  popu 
larity  by  advice  to  the  contrary.  The 
young  men's  blood-thirst  and  desire 
for  distinction  could  not  be  curbed. 
So  the  war-prophet  repaired  to  his 
secret  lodge  to  make  the  mystery, 
while  the  warriors  fasted  until  it  was 
done.  Everything  about  the  expedi 
tion  had  been  faithfully  attended  to; 
all  the  divinities  had  been  duly  con 
sulted;  the  council  had  legitimatized 
it;  the  Fire  Eater  had  been  appointed 
leader;  the  war-prophet  had  the  sa 
cred  protection  forthcoming,  and  no 
band  had  lately  gone  forth  from  the 
village  with  so  many  assurances  of 
success. 

For  many  days  the  little  streak  of 
164 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

ponies  wound  over  the  rolling  brown 
land  toward  the  north.  Each  man 
rode  a  swift  horse  and  led  another 
alongside.  Far  ahead  ranged  the 
cautious  spies;  no  sailing  hawk,  no 
wailing  coyote,  no  blade  of  grass  did 
anything  which  was  not  reasoned  out 
by  mind  or  noted  by  their  watchful 
eyes. 

The  Absaroke  were  the  friends  of 
the  Yellow-Eyes  who  had  a  little  fort 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Muscleshell, 
.where  they  gave  their  guns  and  gauds 
in  great  quantities.  The  Chis-chis- 
chash  despised  the  men  who  wore 
hats.  They  barely  tolerated  and  half 
protected  their  own  traders.  Noth 
ing  seemed  so  desirable  as  to  despoil 
the  Absaroke  traders.  They  had 

often   spied   on   the  fort    but  always 

165 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

found  the  protecting  Absaroke  too 
numerous.  The  scouts  of  the  Fire 
Eater,  however,  found  immense  trace 
of  their  enemy's  main  camp  as  it 
moved  up  the  valley  of  the  Yellow 
stone.  They  knew  that  the  Absaroke 
had  finished  their  yellow-grass  trad 
ing  and  had  gone  to  hunt  the  buffalo. 
They  hoped  to  find  the  little  fort 
unprotected.  Accordingly  they  sped 
on  toward  that  point,  which  upon 
arrival  they  found  sitting  innocently 
alone  in  the  grand  landscape.  Not 
a  tepee  was  to  be  seen. 

Having  carefully  reconnoitered  and 
considered  the  place,  they  left  their 
horses  in  a  dry  washout  and  crawled 
toward  it  through  the  sage  brush.  As 
the  sky  grew  pale  toward  the  early 

sun   there  was   no  sign   of  discovery 

166  ' 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

from  its  silent  pickets.  When  within 
a  hundred  yards,  in  response  to  the 
commanding  war-cry  of  the  Fire 
Eater,  they  rose  like  ghosts  from  the 
sage  and  charged  fast  on  the  stockade. 
The  gray  logs  stood  stiffly  unrespon 
sive  and  gave  no  answering  shots  or 
yells  as  the  Indians  swept  upon  them. 
The  gate  was  high,  but  the  attacking 
force  crept  up  on  each  other's  bent 
backs  as  they  strove  for  the  interior. 
A  tremendous  commotion  arose; 
rifles  blazed  inside  and  out.  Two 
or  three  Indians  sprang  over  but 
were  shot  down.  Hatchets  hacked 
at  the  timbers;  gun-muzzles  and 
drawn  arrows  sought  the  crevices  in 
the  logs;  piercing  yells  rose  above 
the  hoarse  shouts  of  the  besieged  for 

the  stockade  was  full  of  white  men. 

167 


The   Way  oj  an  Indian 

The  savages  had  not  noticed  a 
great  number  of  Mackinaw  boats 
drawn  up  on  the  river  bank  and  con 
cealed  by  low  bushes.  These  be 
longed  to  a  brigade  of  freighters  who 
were  temporarily  housed  in  the  post. 
As  the  surprised  whites  and  Creoles 
swarmed  to  the  defense  the  Indians 
found  themselves  outnumbered  three 
to  one.  The  Fire  Eater,  seeing  sev 
eral  braves  fall  before  the  ever-in 
creasing  fire  from  the  palisades  and 
knowing  he  could  not  scale  the  bar 
rier,  ordered  a  withdrawal.  The 
beaten  band  drew  slowly  away  carry 
ing  the  stricken  brothers. 

The  medicine  was  bad — the  war- 
prophet  had  not  had  free  communi 
cation  with  the  mystery  of  the  Good 

Gods.      Some  one  had  allowed  him- 

168 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

self  to  walk  in  a  beaten  path  or  had 
violated  the  sacred  rights  of  the  war 
path,  and  the  spirit  of  secrecy  had 
left  their  moccasins.  The  skin  of 
the  little  brown  bat  did  not  comfort 
the  Fire  Eater  in  his  fallen  state.  He 
cast  many  burning  glances  back  at 
the  logs,  now  becoming  mellowed  by 
the  morning  light.  The  sun  had 
apparently  thrown  his  protection  over 
them  and  the  omen  struck  home  to 
the  wondering,  savage  mind.  He 
remembered  that  the  old  men  had 
always  said  that  the  medicine  of  the 
Yellow-Eyes  was  very  strong  and 
that  they  always  fought  insensibly 
like  the  gray  bears.  The  flashing 
rifles  which  had  blown  their  bodies 
back  from  the  fort  had  astonished 

these  Indians   less  by  their  execution 

169 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

than  by  the  indication  they  gave  that 
the  powers  of  darkness  were  not  with 
them.  They  looked  askance  at  the 
Fire  Eater  for  their  ill-success.  He 
was  enraged — a  sudden  madness  had 
overpowered  and  destroyed  his  sense 
of  the  situation.  One  of  those  moods 
had  come  upon  the  savage  child- 
mind  when  the  surging  blood  made 
his  eyes  gleam  vacantly  like  the  great 
cats. 

Slowly  the  dismayed  band  with 
drew  to  the  washout — casting  back 
ward  glances  at  the  walls  which  had 
beaten  down  their  ambitions  and 
would  paint  the  tribes  with  ashes 
and  blood-sacrifices  for  the  lost. 
When  there,  they  sat  about  deject 
edly,  finding  no  impulse  to  do  more. 

From  out  of  the  west,  in  response  to 

170 


The  Fire  Rater  s  Bad  Medicine 

their  blue  despondency,  the  clouds 
blew  over  the  plains — the  thunder 
rumbled — the  rain  came  splashing 
and  beating  and  then  fell  in  blind 
ing  sheets.  The  Fire  Eater  arose 
and  standing  on  the  edge  of  the 
bank  raised  his  arms  in  thanks  to 
the  Thunder  Bird  for  his  interposi 
tion  in  their  behalf,  saying:  " Broth 
ers,  the  Thunder  Bird  has  come  to 
his  poor  warriors  to  drive  our  ene 
mies  back  as  was  promised  to  the 
prophet.  He  will  put  out  the  fires 
of  the  Yellow-Eyes,  behind  their 
medicine-logs.  We  are  not  afraid — 
our  medicine  is  strong." 

The  rain  poured  for  a  time  but 
abated  gradually  as  the  crashing 
Thunder  Bird  hurried  away  to  the 

rising  sun,  and  with  a  final  dash  it 

171 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

separated  into  drops,  letting  the  sun 
light  through  the  departing  drizzle. 
The  warriors  began  drying  their 
robes  and  their  weapons — preoccu 
pied  with  the  worries  so  much  damp 
ness  had  wrought  for  their  powder 
and  bow  strings.  Suddenly  one  of 
them  raised  his  head,  deerlike,  to 
listen.  As  wild  things  they  all  re 
sponded,  and  the  group  of  men  was 
statuesque  as  it  listened  to  the  beat 
of  horses'  hoofs.  As  a  flock  of  black 
birds  leaves  a  bush — with  one  mo 
tion — the  statuary  dissolved  into  a 
kaleidoscopic  twinkle  of  movement 
as  the  warriors  grabbed  and  ran 
and  gathered.  They  sought  their 
ponies'  lariats,  but  before  they  could 
mount  a  hundred  mounted  Yellow- 
Eyes  swept  down  upon  them,  cir- 

172 


Eater  raised  his  arms  to  the  Thunder  Bird' 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

cling  away  as  the  Indians  sowed  their 
shots  among  them.  But  they  were 
surrounded.  The  Thunder  Bird  had 
lied  to  the  Chis-chis-chash — he  had 
chosen  to  sacrifice  the  Fire  Eater  and 
the  twenty  Red-Lodge  braves.  There 
was  now  no  thought  of  arresting  the 
blow — there  was  but  to  die  as  their 
people  always  did  in  war.  The  keep 
ers  of  the  Red  Lodge  counting  robes 
might  cross  the  red  pipes  out  with 
black,  but  they  should  not  wash  them 
out  entirely. 

The  beaver-men — the  traders — 
the  Creoles  and  the  half-breeds  slid 
from  their  horses  and  showered  their 
bullets  over  the  washout,  throwing 
clouds  of  wet  dirt  over  the  braves 
crowding  under  its  banks.  The 
frightened  Indian  ponies  swarmed 

173 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

out  of  one  end  of  the  cut,  but  were 
soon  brought  back  and  herded  to 
gether  in  the  sagebrush  by  the  moc 
casin  boys  of  the  Yellow-Eyes. 

In  maddened  bewilderment  the 
Fire  Eater  leaped  upon  the  flat  plain, 
made  insulting  gestures  and  shouted 
defiant  words  in  his  own  language  at 
the  flashing  guns.  Above  the  tur 
moil  could  be  heard  the  harsh,  jerky 
voice  which  came  from  the  bowels 
of  the  warrior  rather  than  from  his 
lips.  No  bullet  found  him  as  he 
stepped  back  into  cover,  more  com 
posed  than  when  he  had  gone  out. 
The  nervous  thrill  had  expanded  it 
self  in  the  speech.  To  his  own  mind 
the  Fire  Eater  was  a  dead  man;  his 
medicine  had  departed ;  his  spiritual 
protection  was  gone.  He  recognized 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

that  to  live  his  few  remaining  hours 
was  all — he  had  only  to  do  the  mere 
act  of  dying;  and  that  he  would  do  as 
his  demon  nature  willed  it.  His  last 
sun  was  looking  down  upon  him. 

The  Yellow  -  Eyes  knew  their 
quarry  well.  They  recognized  of 
old  the  difference  between  an  In 
dian  cooped  up  in  a  hole  in  a  flat 
plain  and  one  mounted  on  a  swift 
war-pony,  with  a  free  start,  and  the 
whole  plain  for  a  race-track.  They 
advanced  with  all  caution — crawl 
ing,  sneaking  through  sage  and 
tufted  grass.  Occasionally  as  an 
Indian  exposed  himself  to  fire,  a 
swift  bullet  from  a  beaver-man's 
long  rifle  crashed  into  his  head,  roll 
ing  him  back  with  oozing  brains. 
The  slugs  and  ounce  balls  slapped 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

into  the  dirt  from  the  muskets  of  the 
creole  engages  and  they  were  losing 
warrior  after  warrior.  By  cutting 
the  dirt  with  their  knives  the  Indians 
dug  into  the  banks,  avoiding  a 
fire  which  raked  the  washout;  and  by 
throwing  the  dirt  up  on  either  side 
they  protected  their  heads  as  they 
raised  to  fire. 

A  man  walking  over  the  flats  by 
midday  would  have  seen  nothing  but 
feeding  ponies  and  occasional  flashes 
of  fire  close  to  the  grass,  but  a  flying 
raven  would  have  gloated  over  a  scene 
of  many  future  gorges.  It  would  have 
seen  many  lying  on  their  backs  in  the 
ditch — lying  quite  still  and  gazing 
up  at  his  wheeling  flight  with  stony 
gaze. 

The  white  men  had  no  means  of 
176 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

knowing  how  successful  had  been 
the  rifle-fire  and  they  hesitated  to 
crawl  closer.  Each  party  in  turn 
taunted  the  other  in  unknown 
tongues,  but  they  well  knew  that  the 
strange  voices  carried  fearful  insult 
from  the  loud  defiance  of  the  into 
nation.  The  gray  bears  or  the 
mountain  cats  were  as  merciful  as 
any  there.  As  the  sun  started  on 
its  downward  course  the  nature  of 
the  Gothic  blood  asserted  itself.  The 
white  men  had  sat  still  until  they 
could  sit  still  no  longer.  They  had 
fasted  too  long.  They  talked  to  each 
other  through  the  sagebrush,  and  this 
is  what  happened  when  they  cast  the 
dice  between  Death  and  Dinner: 
A  tall,  long-haired  man  clad  in 

the    fringed    buckskin    of   a    Rocky 

177 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Mountain  trapper  of  the  period, 
passed  slowly  around  the  circle  of 
the  siege,  shouting  loudly  to  those 
concealed  among  the  brush  and 
grasses.  What  he  said  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  did  not  know,  but  they 
could  see  him  pointing  at  them  con 
tinually. 

The  Fire  Eater  raised  his  voice  : 
"  Brothers,  keep  your  guns  full  of 
fire ;  lay  all  your  arrows  beside  you ; 
put  your  war-ax  under  you.  The  Yel 
low-Eyes  are  going  to  kill  us  as  we 
do  the  buffalo  in  a  surround.  Broth 
ers,  if  the  Thunder  Bird  does  not 
come  our  fires  will  go  out  now.  We 
will  take  many  to  the  spirit-land." 

Having  completed  the  circle  the 
tall  white  man  waved  a  red  blanket 

and  started  on  a  run  toward  the  place 

178 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

where  the  Indians  lay.  From  all 
sides  sprang  the  besiegers  converging 
with  flying  feet.  When  nearly  in 
contact  the  Indians  fired  their  guns, 
killing  and  wounding.  The  whites 
in  turn  excitedly  emptied  theirs  and 
through  the  smoke  with  lowered  heads 
charged  like  the  buffalo.  The  bow 
strings  twanged  and  the  ravens  could 
only  see  the  lightning  sweep  of  axes 
and  furious  gun-butts  going  over  the 
pall  of  mingled  dust  and  powder 
smoke.  If  the  ravens  were  watching 
they  would  have  seen  nothing  more 
except  a  single  naked  Indian  run  out 
of  the  turmoil,  and  after  a  quick 
glance  backward  speed  away  through 
the  sagebrush.  He  could  not  fight 
for  victory  now;  he  only  sought  to 

escape ;  he  was  deserted  by  his  Gods ; 

179 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

he  ran  on  the  tightened  muscles  of  a 
desperate  hope. 

A  bunch  of  horses  had  been  left 
huddled  by  a  squad  of  the  enemy 
who  had  gone  in  with  the  charge  on 
post  and  for  these  the  Fire  Eater 
made.  No  one  seemed  to  notice  the 
lone  runner  until,  a  small  herds-boy 
spied  him,  and  though  he  raised 
his  childish  treble  it  made  no  im 
pression.  The  Fire  Eater  picked  up 
a  dropped  pony-whip  and  leading 
two  ponies  out  of  the  bunch,  mounted 
and  lashed  away.  He  passed  the 
screaming  boy  within  killing  distance, 
but  it  was  an  evil  day. 

Before  the  small  herder's  voice  as 
serted  itself  he  was  long  out  of  rifle 
shot  though  not  out  of  pony-reach. 

A  dozen  men  dashed  after  him.    The 

1 80 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

warrior  plied  his  whip  mercilessly  in 
alternate  slaps  on  each  pony-quarter 
and  the  bareback  savage  drew  stead 
ily  away  to  the  hills.  For  many 
miles  the  white  men  lathered  their 
horses  after,  but  one  by  one  gave  up 
the  chase.  The  dice  doubtless  said 
dinner  as  against  an  Indian  with  a 
double  mount  and  many  will  think 
they  gave  a  wise  choice. 

On  flew  the  Fire  Eater.  Confu 
sion  had  come  to  him.  The  bat  on 
his  scalp-lock  said  never  a  word.  His 
heart  was  upside  down  within  him. 
His  shadow  flew  away  before  him. 
The  great  mystery  of  his  tribe  had 
betrayed  and  bewitched  him.  The 
Yellow-Eyed  medicine  would  find 
him  yet. 

From   a  high  divide    the   fugitive 
1*1 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

stopped  beside  a  great  rock  to  blow 
his  horses  and  he  turned  his  eyes  on 
the  scene  of  ill-fate.  He  saw  the 
Yellow-Eyes  ride  slowly  back  to  their 
medicine-logs — he  saw  the  ravens 
lighting  down  on  the  dry  watercourse 
and  for  a  long  time  he  stood — not 
thinking — only  gazing  heavy-headed 
and  vacant. 

After  a  time  he  pulled  his  ponies' 
heads  up  from  the  grass  and  trotted 
them  away.  Growing  composed, 
with  his  blood  stilled,  thoughts  came 
slowly.  He  thanked  the  little  brown 
bat  when  it  reminded  him  of  his 
savior.  A  furious  flood  of  disap 
pointment  overcame  him  when  he 
thought  of  his  lifelong  ambitions  as 
a  warrior — now  only  dry,  white  ashes. 

Could  he  go  back  to  the  village  and 

182 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

tell  all?  The  council  of  the  Red 
Lodges  would  not  listen  to  his  voice 
as  they  had  before.  When  he  spoke 
they  would  cast  their  eyes  on  the 
ground  in  sorrow.  The  Thunder 
Bird  had  demanded  a  sacrifice  from 
him  when  he  returned.  He  could 
not  bear  the  thoughts  of  the  wailing 
women  and  the  screaming  children 
and  the  old  men  smoking  in  silence 
as  he  passed  through  the  camp.  He 
could  not  wash  the  ashes  from  the 
faces  of  his  people.  The  thoughts  of 
it  all  deadened  his  soul,  and  he  turned 
his  ponies  to  the  west.  He  would 
not  go  back.  He  had  died  with  his 
warriors. 

When  the  lodges  lay  covered  with 
snow  the  Chis-chis-chash  sang  songs 
to  the  absent  ones  of  the  Fire  Eater's 

183 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

band.  Through  the  long,  cold  nights 
the  women  sat  rocking  and  begging 
the  gods  to  bring  them  back  their 
warriors.  The  " green-grass"  came 
and  the  prophet  of  the  Red  Lodges 
admitted  that  the  medicine  spoke  no 
more  of  the  absent  band.  By  "  yel 
low-grass"  hope  grew  cold  in  the 
village  and  socially  they  had  read 
justed  themselves.  It  had  happened 
in  times  past  that  even  after  two 
snows  had  come  and  gone  warriors 
had  found  the  path  back  to  the  camp, 
but  now  men  saw  the  ghost  of  the 
Fire  Eater  in  dreams,  together  with 
his  lost  warriors. 

Another  snow  passed  and  still  an 
other.  The  Past  had  grown  white 
in  the  shadows  of  an  all-enduring 

Present    when    the    Chis-chis-chash 

184 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

began  to  hear  vague  tales  from  their 
traders  of  a  mighty  war-chief  who 
had  come  down  to  the  Shoshones 
from  the  clouds.  He  was  a  great 
"wakan"  and  he  spoke  the  same 
language  as  the  Chis-chis-chash.  This 
chief  said  he  had  been  a  Cheyenne 
in  his  former  life  on  earth,  but  had 
been  sent  back  to  be  a  Shoshone 
for  another  life.  The  Indians  were 
overcome  by  an  insatiate  curiosity  to 
see  this  being  and  urged  the  traders 
to  bring  him  from  the  Shoshones — 
promising  to  protect  and  honor  him. 
The  traders  dominated  by  avarice, 
hoping  to  better  their  business,  hu 
mored  the  stories  and  enlarged  upon 
them.  They  half  understood  that 
the  mystery  of  life  and  death  are 

inextricably   mixed    in  savage  minds 

185 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

— that  they  come  and  go,  passing 
in  every  form  from  bears  to  inani 
mate  things  or  living  in  ghosts  which 
grow  out  of  a  lodge  fire.  So  for 
heavy  considerations  in  beaver  skins 
they  sent  representatives  to  the  Sho- 
shones  and  there  for  an  armful  of 
baubles  they  prevailed  upon  those 
people  to  allow  their  supernatural 
war-chief  to  visit  his  other  race  out 
on  the  great  meadows. 

"If  in  the  time  of  the  next  green- 
grass/'  said  the  trader,  "the  Chis- 
chis-chash  have  enough  beaver,  we 
will  bring  their  brother  who  died 
back  to  their  camp.  We  will  lead 
him  into  the  tribal  council.  If  on  the 
other  hand  they  do  not  have  enough 
skins,  our  medicine  will  be  weak." 

In  the  following  spring  the  tribe 
1 86 


The  Fire  Rater  s  Bad  Medicine 

gathered  at  the  appointed  time  and 
place,  camping  near  the  post.  The 
big  council-lodge  was  erected- 
everything  was  arranged — the  great 
ceremonial-pipe  was  filled  and  the 
council-fire  kept  smoldering.  Many 
packages  of  beaver-skins  were  un 
loaded  by  squaws  at  the  gate  of  the 
traders  and  all  important  persons 
foregathered  in  the  lodge. 

When  the  pipe  had  passed  slowly 
and  in  form  the  head-chief  asked 
the  trader  if  he  saw  beaver  enough 
outside  his  window.  This  one  re 
plied  that  he  did  and  sent  for  the 
man  who  had  been  dead. 

The  council  sat  in  silence  with  its 
eyes  upon  the  ground.  From  the 
commotion  outside  they  felt  an  awe 

of  the  strange  approach.      Never  be- 

187 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

fore  had  the  Chis-chis-chash  been  so 
near  the  great  mystery.  The  door- 
flap  was  lifted  and  a  fully  painted, 
gorgeously  arrayed  warrior  stepped 
into  the  centre  of  the  circle  and 
stood  silently  with  raised  chin. 

There  was  a  loud  murmur  on  the 
outside  but  the  lodge  was  like  a 
grave.  A  loud  grunt  came  from 
one  man — followed  by  another  until 
the  hollow  walls  gave  back  like  a 
hundred  tom-toms.  They  recog 
nized  the  Fire  Eater,  but  no  Indian 
calls  another  by  his  name. 

Raising  his  hand  with  the  dignity 
which  Indians  have  in  excess  of  all 
other  men  the  Fire  Eater  said : 
"  Brothers,  it  makes  my  heart  big 
to  look  at  you  again.  I  have  been 
dead  but  I  came  to  life  again.  I 


The  Fire  Eater  s  Bad  Medicine 

was  sent  back  by  the  gods  to  com 
plete  another  life  on  earth.  The 
Thunder  Bird  made  the  Yellow- 
Eyes  kill  all  my  band  when  we 
went  against  the  Absaroke.  My 
medicine  grew  weak  before  the  white 
man's  medicine.  Brothers,  they  are 
very  strong.  Always  beware  of  the 
medicine  of  the  traders  and  the  beav 
er-men.  They  are  fools  and  women 
themselves  but  the  gods  give  them 
guns  and  other  medicine  things.  He 
can  make  them  see  what  is  to  happen 
long  before  he  tells  the  Indians.  They 
can  see  us  before  we  come  and 
know  what  we  are  thinking  about. 
They  have  brought  me  back  to  my 
people,  and  my  medicine  says  I  must 
be  a  Chis-chis-chash  until  I  die  again. 

Brothers,  I  have  made  my  talk." 

189 


VII 

Among   the    Pony-Soldiers 


191 


VII 

Among  the   Pony  -Soldiers 


burial  scaffold  of  the  Fire 
Eater's  father  had  rotted  and 
fallen  down  with  years.  Time  had 
even  bent  his  own  shoulders,  filled 
his  belly  and  shrunken  his  flanks. 
He  now  had  two  sons  who  were  of 
sufficient  age  to  have  forgotten  their 
first  sun-dance  medicine,  so  long  had 
they  been  warriors  of  distinction.  He 
also  had  boys  and  girls  of  less  years, 
but  a  child  of  five  snows  was  the 
only  thing  which  could  relax  the  old 
man's  features,  set  hard  with  thought 
and  time  and  toil. 

Evil  days  had  come  to  the  Buffalo 
193 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

Indians.  The  Yellow-Eyes  swarmed 
in  the  Indian  country,  and  although 
the  red  warriors  rode  their  ponies 
thin  in  war,  they  could  not  drive  the 
invaders  away.  The  little  bands  of 
traders  and  beaver-men  who  came  to 
the  camps  of  the  Fire  Eater's  boy 
hood  with  open  hands  were  suc 
ceeded  by  immense  trains  of  wagons, 
drawn  by  the  white  man's  buffalo. 
The  trains  wound  endlessly  toward 
the  setting  sun — paying  no  heed  to 
the  Indians.  Yellow-Eyes  came  to 
the  mountains  where  they  dug  and 
washed  for  the  white  man's  great 
medicine,  the  yellow-iron.  The  fire 
boats  came  up  the  great  river  with  a 
noise  like  the  Thunder  Bird — firing 
big  medicine-guns  which  shot  twice 

at  one  discharge. 

194 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

The  Fire  Eater,  with  his  brothers 
of  the  Chis-chis-chash,  had  run  off 
with  the  horses  and  buffalo  of  these 
helpless  Yellow  -  Eyes  until  they 
wanted  no  more.  They  had  knocked 
them  on  the  head  with  battle-axes 
in  order  to  save  powder.  They  had 
burned  the  grass  in  front  of  the 
slow-moving  trains  and  sat  on  the 
hills  laughing  at  the  discomfiture 
caused  by  the  playful  fires.  Not 
withstanding,  all  their  efforts  did  not 
check  the  ceaseless  flow  and  a  vague 
feeling  of  alarm  began  to  pervade 
them. 

Talking  men  came  to  them  and 
spoke  of  their  Great  Father  in  Wash 
ington.  It  made  them  laugh.  These 
talking  men  gave  them  enough  blan 
kets  and  medicine  goods  to  make  the 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

travvis  poles  squeak  under  the  bur 
den.  When  these  men  also  told 
them  that  they  must  live  like  white 
men,  the  secret  council  lost  its  dig 
nity  entirely  and  roared  long  and 
loud  at  the  quaint  suggestion. 

Steadily  flowed  the  stream  of 
wagons  over  the  plains  though  the 
Indians  plied  them  with  ax  and 
rifle  and  fire.  Sober-minded  old 
chiefs  began  to  recall  many  prophe 
cies  of  the  poor  trappers  who  told 
how  their  people  swarmed  behind 
them  and  would  soon  come  on. 

Then  began  to  appear  great  lines 
of  the  Great  Father's  warriors — all 
dressed  alike  and  marching  steadily 
with  their  wagons  drawn  along  by 
half-brothers  to  the  horse.  These 

men    built     log     forts    on    the    In- 

196 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

dian  lands  and  they  had  come  to 
stay. 

The  time  for  action  had  come. 
Runners  went  through  the  tribes 
calling  great  councils  which  made  a 
universal  peace  between  the  red 
brothers.  Many  and  fierce  were  the 
fights  with  these  blue  soldiers  of  the 
Great  Father.  The  Indians  slew 
them  by  hundreds  at  times  and  were 
slain  in  turn.  In  a  grand  assault  on 
some  of  these  which  lay  behind 
medicine-wagons  and  shot  medicine- 
guns  the  Indian  dead  blackened  the 
grass  and  the  white  soldiers  gave 
them  bad  dreams  for  many  days. 

The  talking-wives  and  the  fire 
wagon  found  their  way,  and  the 
white  hunters  slew  the  buffalo  of  the 

Indians  by  millions,  for  their  hides. 

197 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Every  year  brought  more  soldiers 
who  made  more  log  forts  from  which 
they  emerged  with  their  wagons, 
dragging  after  the  trace  of  the  Chis- 
chis-chash  camp,  and  disturbing  the 
buffalo  and  the  elk.  To  be  sure, 
the  soldiers  never  came  up  because 
the  squaws  could  move  the  travvis 
more  rapidly  than  the  others  could 
their  wagons,  but  it  took  many 
young  men  to  watch  their  move 
ments  and  keep  the  grass  burning 
before  them.  Since  the  Indians  had 
made  the  wagon  fight,  they  no-  longer 
tried  to  charge  the  soldiers,  thinking 
it  easier  to  avoid  them.  The  young 
men  were  made  to  run  their  ponies 
around  the  Yellow-Eyes  before  it 
was  light  enough  in  the  morning  for 

them  to  shoot,  and  they  always  found 

198 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

the  Yellow-Eyes  heavy  with  sleep; 
but  they  did  not  grapple  with  the 
white  soldiers  because  they  found 
them  too  slow  to  run  away  and  ene 
mies  who  always  fought  wildly,  like 
bears.  Occasionally  the  Indians 
caught  one  of  them  alive,  staked  him 
out  on  a  hill,  and  burned  him  in 
sight  of  his  camp.  These  Yellow- 
Eyes  were  poor  warriors,  for  they 
always  whined  and  yelled  under  the 
torture.  Half-breeds  who  came 
from  the  camp  of  the  Yellow-Eyes 
said  that  this  sight  always  made  the 
white  soldiers'  blood  turn  to  water. 
Still  the  invaders  continued  to  crawl 
slowly  along  the  dusty  valleys.  The 
buffalo  did  not  come  up  from  the 
south — from  the  caves  of  the  Good 

Gods    where     they    were    made — in 

199 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

such  numbers  as  they  once  did,  and 
the  marching  soldiers  frightened  those 
which  did  and  kept  them  away. 
The  young  warriors  never  wearied 
of  the  excitement  of  these  times, 
with  its  perpetual  war-party,  but  old 
men  remembered  the  prophecies  of 
the  beaver-men  and  that  the  times 
had  changed. 

The  Fire  Eater,  as  he  talked  to 
old  Weasel  Bear  over  their  pipes  and 
kettles,  said: 

"  Brother,  we  used  to  think  Yel 
low  Horse  had  lost  the  Power  of  his 
Eyes  when  he  came  from  his  journey 
with  the  talking  white  man.  We 
thought  he  had  been  made  to  dream 
by  the  Yellow-Eyes.  We  have  seen 
the  talking  wives  and  we  have  seen 
the  fire  wagon.  We  have  seen  the 

200 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

white  men  come  until  there  are  as 
many  as  all  the  warriors  in  this 
camp.  All  the  foolish  half-breeds 
say  it  is  as  the  talking  men  say. 
Brother,  I  have  seen  in  my  dreams 
that  there  are  more  of  them  than  the 
buffalo.  They  have  their  caves  to 
the  east  as  the  buffalo  do  to  the 
south,  and  they  come  out  of  them 
in  the  time  of  the  green-grass  just 
as  the  buffalo  do.  The  Bad  Gods 
send  the  Yellow-Eyes  and  the  Good 
Gods  send  the  buffalo.  The  gods 
are  fighting  each  other  in  the  air." 

Weasel  Bear  smoked  in  silence 
until  he  had  digested  the  thoughts 
of  his  friend,  when  he  replied : 

"  Your  talk  is  good.  Two  grasses 
ago  I  was  with  a  war-party  and  we 
caught  a  white  man  between  the 


201 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

bends  of  the  Tois-ta-to-e-o.  He 
had  four  eyes  and  also  a  medicine- 
box  which  we  did  not  touch.  All 
the  hair  on  his  head  and  face  was 
white  as  the  snow.  While  we  were 
making  the  fire  to  burn  him  with, 
he  talked  much  strong  talk.  Before 
we  could  burn  him  he  sank  down  at 
our  feet  and  died  a  medicine-death. 
We  all  ran  away.  Bad  Arm,  the 
half-breed  who  was  with  us,  said  the 
man  had  prophesied  that  before  ten 
snows  all  our  fires  would  be  put  out 
by  his  people.  Brother,  that  man 
had  the  Power  of  the  Eyes.  I 
looked  at  him  strong  while  he  talked. 
I  have  seen  him  in  my  dreams — I  am 
afraid." 

Weasel  Bear  continued: 

<c  You  hear  our  young  scouts  who 


202 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

come  in  tell  us  how  the  white  sol 
diers  are  coming  in  droves  this  grass. 
There  are  walking-soldiers,  pony- 
soldiers,  big  guns  on  wheels  and 
more  wagons  than  they  can  count. 
Many  of  their  scalps  shall  dry  in  our 
lodges,  but,  brother,  we  cannot  kill 
them  all." 

In  accordance  with  the  tribal 
agreements  the  Chis-chis-chash  joined 
their  camp  with  the  Dakota,  and  to 
gether  both  tribes  moved  about  the 
buffalo  range.  Every  day  the  scouts 
came  on  reeking  ponies  to  the  chiefs. 
The  soldiers  were  everywhere  march 
ing  toward  the  camps.  The  council 
fire  was  always  smoldering.  The 
Dakota  and  Chis-chis-chash  chiefs 
sat  in  a  dense  ring  while  Sitting  Bull, 

Gall,  Crazy  Horse  and  all  the  strong 

203 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

men  talked.  They  regarded  the 
menace  with  awe ;  they  feared  for  the 
camp  with  its  women  and  children, 
but  each  voice  was  for  war.  It  was 
no  longer  poor  beaver-men  or  toiling 
bull- wagons;  it  was  crowds  of  sol 
diers  coming  up  every  valley  toward 
the  villages  which  before  had  been 
remote  and  unmolested.  If  any 
soothsayer  could  penetrate  the  veil  of 
the  future  he  held  his  peace  in  the 
councils.  The  Indians  tied  up  their 
ponies'  tails  for  the  struggle  and 
painted  for  war.  Three  cartridges 
were  all  a  fine  buffalo  robe  would 
bring  from  a  trader  and  even  then  it 
was  hard  to  get  them;  but  though 
the  lodges  had  few  robes  many 
brass-bound  bullets  reposed  in  the 

war-bags. 

204 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

The  old  thrill  came  over  the  Fire 
Eater  in  these  agitated  times.  He 
could  no  longer  leap  upon  his  pony 
at  full  gallop,  but  rode  a  saddle.  The 
lodge  chafed  him  until  he  gathered 
up  a  few  young  men  who  had  been 
acting  as  spies  and  trotted  forth  on 
a  coyote  prowl.  For  many  days 
they  made  their  way  toward  the 
south.  One  day  as  he  sat  smoking 
by  a  small  fire  on  a  mountain-top, 
somewhat  wearied  with  travel,  the 
restless  young  men  came  trotting 
softly  back  over  the  pine  needles 
saying : 

"Come  out  and  you  will  see  the 
white  soldiers."  He  mounted  and 
followed,  and  sitting  there  amid  the 
mountain  tangle  he  saw  his  dreams 

come    true.      The    traders    and    the 

205 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

talking  men  had  not  lied  about  the 
numbers  of  their  people,  for  his  eye 
did  not  come  to  the  rear  of  the  pro- 
cession  which  wound  up  the  valley 
like  a  great  snake.  There  were  pony- 
soldiers,  walking-soldiers,  guns  on 
wagons,  herds  of  the  white  men's 
buffalo,  and  teams  without  end. 
The  Fire  Eater  passed  his  hands 
across  his  eyes  before  another  gaze 
reassured  him,  and  having  satisfied 
himself  he  asked  a  young  man: 
"Brother,  you  say  there  are  as  many 
more  soldiers  up  north  by  the  Yel 
lowstone  ?  " 

"  There  are  as  many  more — I  saw 
them  with  my  own  eyes,  and  Blow 
Cloud  over  there  has  seen  as  many 
to  the  east.  He  could  not  count 

them." 

206 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

For  an  hour  the  spies  watched  the 
white  columns  before  the  Fire  Eater 
turned  his  pony,  and  followed  by 
his  young  men  disappeared  in  the 
timber. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  the  big  camp 
the  Fire  Eater  addressed  the  council: 

"I  have  just  come  five  smokes 
from  the  south,  and  I  saw  the  white 
soldiers  coming.  I  could  not  count 
them.  '  They  crawl  slowly  along  the 
valley  and  they  take  their  wagons  to 
war.  They  cannot  travel  as  fast  as 
our  squaws,  but  they  will  drive  the 
buffalo  out  of  the  land.  We  must 
go  out  and  fight  them  while  our  vil 
lages  lie  here  close  to  the  mountains. 
The  wagon-soldiers  cannot  follow 
the  women's  pack-horses  into  the 

mountains." 

207 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

The  council  approved  this  with 
much  grunting,  and  the  warriors 
swarmed  from  the  villages — covering 
the  country  until  the  coyotes  ran 
about  continually  to  get  out  of  their 
way.  No  scout  of  the  enemy  could 
penetrate  to  the  Indian  camps.  The 
Indians  burned  the  grass  in  front  of 
the  on-coming  herds;  they  fired  into 
the  enemy's  tents  at  night,  and  as 
the  pony-soldiers  bathed  naked  in 
the  Yellowstone  ran  their  horses 
over  them.  They  would  have  put 
out  many  of  the  white  soldiers' 
fires  if  the  wagon-guns  had  not 
fired  bullets  which  burst  among 
them. 

But  it  was  all  to  no  purpose. 

Slowly  the  great    snakes    crawled 

through  the  valleys  and  the  red  war- 

208 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

riors  went  riding  back  to  the  village 
to  prepare  for  flight. 

One  morning  the  Fire  Eater  sat 
beside  his  lodge  fire  playing  with  his 
young  son — a  thing  which  usually 
made  his  eyes  gleam.  Now  he 
looked  sadly  into  the  little  face  of 
the  boy,  who  stood  holding  his  two 
great  scalp  braids  in  his  chubby  hands. 
He  knew  that  in  a  day  or  two  the 
camp  must  move  and  that  the  war 
riors  must  try  to  stop  the  Yellow- 
Eyes.  Taking  from  his  scalp  a  buck 
skin  bag  which  contained  his  bat-skin 
medicine  he  rubbed  it  slowly  over  the 
boy's  body,  the  child  laughing  as  he 
did  so.  The  sun  was  barely  stronger 
than  the  lodge  fire  when  from  far 
away  on  the  hills  beyond  the  river 

came    a    faint   sound    borne   on    the 

209 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

morning  wind,  yet  it  electrified  the 
camp,  and  from  in  front  of  the  Fire 
Eater's  tent  a  passing  man  split  the 
air  with  the  wolfish  war- yell  of  the 
Chis-chis-chash.  As  though  he  had 
been  a  spiral  spring  released  from 
pressure,  the  Fire  Eater  regained  his 
height.  The  little  boy  sat  briskly 
down  in  the  ashes,  adding  his  voice 
to  the  confusion,  which  now  reigned 
in  the  great  camp  in  a  most  dispro 
portionate  way.  The  old  chief 
sprang  to  his  doorway  in  time  to 
see  a  mounted  rider  cut  by,  shriek 
ing,  "The  pony-soldiers  are  coming 
over  the  hills!"  and  disappear  among 
the  tepees. 

With  intense  fingers  the  nerved 
warrior  readjusted  his  life  treasure, 
the  bat-skin,  to  his  scalp-lock,  then 


2IO 


Among  the  Pony -Soldiers 

opening  his  war-bags,  which  no  other 
person  ever  touched  on  pain  of  death, 
he  quickly  daubed  the  war  paint 
on  his  face.  These  two  important 
things  having  been  done,  he  filled 
his  ammunition  bag  with  a  double 
handful  of  cartridges,  tied  his  chief's 
war -bonnet  under  his  chin,  and 
grasping  his  rifle,  war-ax  and  whip, 
he  slid  out  of  the  tepee.  An  ex 
cited  squaw  hastily  brought  his  best 
war-pony  with  its  tail  tied  up,  as  it 
always  was  in  these  troublesome  times. 
The  Fire  Eater  slapped  his  hand  vio 
lently  on  its  quarter,  and  when  he 
raised  it  there  was  the  red  imprint 
of  the  hand  of  war.  The  fright 
ened  animal  threw  back  its  head  and 
backed  away,  but  with  a  bound  like 
a  panther  the  savage  was  across  its 


211 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

back,  a  thing  which  in  tranquil 
times  the  old  man  was  not  able 
to  do. 

This  was  the  first  time  in  years  that 
the  warrior  had  had  a  chance  to  wear 
his  war-bonnet  in  battle.  Rapidly 
adjusting  his  equipment  as  he  sat  his 
plunging  horse,  he  brought  his  quirt 
down  with  a  full  arm  swing  and  was 
away.  By  his  side  many  sturdy  war- 
ponies  spanked  along.  At  the  ford 
of  the  river  they  made  the  water 
foam,  and  the  far  side  muddy,  with 
their  dripping.  They  were  grotesque 
demons,  streaked  and  daubed,  on 
their  many -colored  ponies.  Rifles 
clashed,  pony-whips  cracked,  horses 
snorted  and  blew,  while  the  riders 
emitted  the  wild  yelps  which  they 
had  learned  from  the  wolves.  Back 

212 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

from  the  hills  came  their  scouts  sail 
ing  like  hawks,  scarcely  seeming  to 
touch  the  earth  as  they  flew  along. 
"The  pony-soldiers  are  coming — 
they  are  over  the  hill!"  they  cried. 
The  crowded  warriors  circled  out 
and  rode  more  slowly  as  their  chiefs 
marshaled  them.  Many  young  Red 
Lodge  braves  found  the  Fire  Eater's 
place,  boys  who  had  never  seen  the 
old  man  in  war,  but  who  had  listened 
in  many  winter  lodges  where  his 
deeds  were  "smoked."  As  they 
looked  at  him  now  they  felt  the 
insistency  of  his  presence — felt  the 
nervous  ferocity  of  the  wild  man;  it 
made  them  eager  and  reckless,  and 
they  knew  that  such  plumes  as  the 
Fire  Eater  wore  were  carried  in 

times  like  these. 

213 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

The  view  of  the  hill  in  front  was 
half  cut  by  the  right  bank  of  the  cou 
lee  up  which  they  were  going,  when 
they  felt  their  hearts  quicken.  One, 
two,  a  half  dozen,  and  then  the  sol 
diers  of  the  Great  Father  came  in 
a  flood  across  the  ridge,  galloping 
steadily  in  column,  their  yellow  flags 
snapping.  The  Fire  Eater  turned 
and  gave  the  long  yell  and  was  an 
swered  by  the  demon  chorus — all 
whipping  along.  The  whole  valley 
answered  in  kind.  The  rifles  began 
to  pop.  A  bugle  rang  on  the  hill, 
once,  twice,  and  the  pony-soldiers 
were  on  their  knees,  their  front  a 
blinding  flash,  with  the  blue  smoke 
rolling  down  upon  the  Indians  or 
hurried  hither  and  thither  by  the 

vagrant  winds.      Several  followers  of 

214 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

the  Fire  Eater  reeled  on  their  ponies 
or  waved  from  side  to  side  or  clung 
desperately  to  their  ponies'  necks, 
sliding  slowly  to  the  ground  as  life 
left  them.  Relentless  whips  drove 
the  maddened  charge  into  the  pall  of 
smoke,  and  the  fighting  men  saw 
everything  dimly  or  not  at  all. 

The  rushing  Red  Lodges  passed 
through  the  line  of  the  blue  soldiers, 
stumbling  over  them  and  striking 
downward  with  their  axes.  Dozens 
of  riderless  troop  horses  mingled  with 
them,  rushing  aimlessly  and  tripping 
on  dangling  ropes  and  reins.  Soon 
they  were  going  down  the  other  side 
of  the  hill  and  out  of  the  smoke  ;  not 
all,  for  some  had  been  left  behind. 
Galloping  slowly,  the  red  warriors 

crowded    their    cartridges    into  their 

215 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

guns  while  over  their  heads  poured 
the  bullets  of  the  soldiers,  who  in  the 
smoke  could  no  longer  be  seen.  On 
all  sides  swarmed  the  rushing  war 
riors  mixed  inextricably  with  riderless 
troop  horses  mad  with  terror.  As 
the  clouds  of  Indians  circled  the  hill, 
the  smoke  blew  slowly  away  from  a 
portion  of  it,  revealing  the  kneeling 
soldiers.  Seeing  this  the  Fire  Eater 
swerved  his  pony,  and  followed  by 
his  band  charged  into  and  over  the 
line.  The  whole  whirling  mass  of 
horsemen  followed.  The  scene  was 
now  a  mass  of  confusion  which  con 
tinued  for  some  time,  but  the  frantic 
Fire  Eater,  as  he  dashed  about,  could 
no  longer  find  any  soldiers.  As  the 
tumult  quieted  and  the  smoke  gave 

back,   they  all   seemed    to   be   dead. 

216 


Among  the  Pony -Soldiers 

Dismounting,  he  seized  a  soldier's 
hair  and  drew  his  knife,  but  was  not 
able  to  wind  his  fingers  into  it.  He 
desisted  and  put  back  his  knife  mut 
tering:  "A  dog — he  had  not  the 
hair  of  a  warrior — I  will  not  dance 
such  a  scalp." 

The  Fire  Eater  looked  around  him 
and  saw  the  warriors  hacking  and 
using  their  knives,  but  the  enemy  had 
been  wiped  out.  Horses  lay  kick 
ing  and  struggling,  or  sat  on  their 
haunches  like  dogs  with  the  blood 
pouring  from  their  nostrils.  He 
smiled  at  the  triumph  of  his  race, 
mounted  his  pony  and  with  his  reek 
ing  war-ax  moved  through  the  ter 
rible  scene.  The  hacking  and  scalp 
ing  was  woman's  work — anyone  could 

count  a  coup  here.      As  for  the  Fire 

217 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

Eater,  his  lodge  was  full  of  trophies, 
won  in  single  combat.  Slowly  he 
made  his  way  down  the  line  of  hor 
ror  until  he  came  to  the  end — to  the 
place  where  the  last  soldier  lay  dead, 
and  he  passed  on  to  a  neighboring 
hill  to  view  the  scene.  As  he  stood 
looking,  he  happened  to  cast  his  eyes 
on  the  ground  and  there  saw  a  foot 
print.  It  was  the  track  of  a  white 
man's  moccasin  with  the  iron  nails 
showing,  and  it  was  going  away  from 
the  scene  of  action.  Turning  his 
pony  he  trotted  along  beside  the 
trail.  Over  the  little  hills  it  ran 
through  the  sage  brush.  Looking 
ahead,  the  Fire  Eater  saw  a  figure  in 
a  red  blanket  moving  rapidly  away. 
Putting  his  pony  to  speed  he  bore 

down   upon   the  man   with   his   rifle 

218 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

cocked.  The  figure  increased  its 
gait,  and  the  red  blanket  fell  from 
the  shoulders  revealing  a  blue  soldier. 
It  was  but  an  instant  before  the  pony 
drew  up  alongside  and  the  white  man 
stood  still,  breathing  heavily.  The 
Fire  Eater  saw  that  his  enemy  had  no 
gun,  the  thought  of  which  made  him 
laugh:  "A  naked  warrior;  a  man 
without  even  a  knife;  does  the  man 
with  the  iron  moccasins  hope  to  out 
run  my  war-pony?" 

The  breathless  and  terrified  white 
man  held  out  his  hand  and  spoke  ex 
citedly,  but  the  Fire  Eater  could  not 
understand.  With  menacing  rifle  he 
advanced  upon  his  prey,  whereat  the 
white  man,  suspecting  his  purpose, 
quickly  picked  up  a  loose  stone  and 

threw  it  at  him  but  only  hit  the  pony, 

219 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

The  Fire  Eater  straightway  shot  the 
soldier  in  the  thigh  and  the  latter  sat 
down  in  the  dirt.  The  old  chief  got 
off  his  horse,  chuckling  while  he  ad 
vanced,  and  sat  down  a  few  yards 
from  the  stricken  man.  He  talked 
to  him,  saying:  "  Brother,  I  have  you 
now.  You  are  about  to  die.  Look 
upon  the  land  for  the  last  time. 
You  came  into  my  country  to  kill  me, 
but  it  is  you  who  are  to  be  killed." 

The  white  soldier  could  not  make 
out  the  intention  of  the  Indian  for 
the  language  was  mild  and  the  face 
not  particularly  satanic.  He  pleaded 
for  his  life,  but  it  had  no  effect  upon 
the  Fire  Eater,  who  shortly  arose  and 
approached  him  with  his  battle-ax. 
The  man  saw  clearly  now  what  was 

to   happen    and    buried   his    face    in 

220 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

his  hands.  Too  often  had  the  hun 
ter-warrior  stood  over  his  fallen 
quarry  to  feel  pity;  he  knew  no 
more  of  this  than  a  bird  of  prey, 
and  he  sank  his  three-pronged  bat 
tle-ax  into  the  soldier's  skull  and 
wiped  it  on  his  pony's  shoulder  say 
ing:  "Another  dog's  head;  I  will 
leave  him  for  the  women  and  the 
boys.  If  he  had  thrown  away  his 
iron  moccasins  his  fire  would  not  be 
out.  I  give  the  meat  to  the  little 
gray  wolves  and  to  the  crows  which 
bring  us  messages  from  the  spirit- 
world."  And  he  resumed  his  mount. 
Riding  back,  he  saw  the  squaws 
swarming  over  the  battlefield,  but 
the  warriors  had  gone.  Men  that 
he  met  in  the  valley  told  him  that 
they  had  more  soldiers  surrounded 


221 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

in  the  bluffs  up  the  valley,  but  that 
the  white-faces  could  not  get  away 
and  that  the  Indians  were  coming 
back  for  fresh  ponies.  Enough  men 
had  been  left  to  hold  the  besieged. 

Coming  to  his  lodge  he  got  a 
new  pony,  and,  as  he  mounted,  said 
to  his  youngest  wife:  "Wan-ha-ya, 
give  me  my  little  boy:  put  him  up 
behind  me  on  my  pony.  I  will 
show  him  war." 

The  squaw  held  the  chubling 
and  put  him  on  the  desired  place, 
where  he  caught  on  like  a  burr. 
The  Fire  Eater  made  his  way 
to  the  battle  ground.  There  the 
squaws  were  stripping  and  mutilat 
ing.  Finding  a  dead  soldier  who 
was  naked,  he  dismounted,  setting 
the  boy  on  the  ground.  Pulling  his 


222 


Among  the  Pony-Soldiers 

great  knife  from  its  buckskin  sheath 
he  curled  the  fat  little  hand  around 
its  haft  and  led  him  to  the  white 
body.  "Strike  the  enemy,  little 
son,  strike  like  a  warrior,"  and  the 
Fire  Eater,  simulating  a  blow, 
directed  the  small  arm  downward 
on  the  corpse.  Comprehending  the 
idea,  the  infant  drew  up  and  drove 
down,  doing  his  best  to  obey  the 
instructions,  but  his  arm  was  far  too 
weak  to  make  the  knife  penetrate. 
The  fun  of  the  thing  made  him 
scream  with  pleasure,  and  the  old 
Fire  Eater  chuckled  at  the  idea  of 
his  little  warrior's  first  coup.  Then 
he  rode  back  to  the  lodge. 


223 


VIII 

The    Medicine-Fight     of    the     Chis- 
chis-chash. 


225 


VIII 

The    Medicine-Fight     of    the     Chis- 
chis-chash. 

TTITHER  and  yon  through  the 
valleys  dragged  the  wagon- 
soldiers,  while  the  Indians  laughed 
at  them  from  the  hills.  In  the  time 
of  the  yellow-grass  the  tribe  had 
made  a  successful  hunt  and  the 
sides  of  their  lodges  were  piled  high 
with  dry  meat.  Their  kettles  would 
boil  through  this  snow. 

As  the  tops  of  the  mountains  grew 
white,  the  camp  was  moved  into  a 
deep  gorge  of  the  Big  Horn  Moun 
tains  out  of  the  way  of  the  trailing 

Yellow-Eyes.      For  a  thousand  feet 

227 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

the  rock  walls  rose  on  either  side. 
A  narrow  brook  wound  down  be 
tween  their  narrow  ways.  Numer 
ous  lateral  canons  crossed  the  main 
one,  giving  grass  and  protection  to 
their  ponies.  As  it  suited  the  in 
dividual  tastes  of  the  people,  the 
lodges  were  placed  in  cozy  places. 
When  the  snows  fell  the  Indians 
forgot  the  wagon-soldiers,  as  they 
feasted  and  gossiped  by  their  camp- 
fires. 

They  felt  secure  in  their  eerie 
home,  though  the  camp-cryer  fre 
quently  passed,  shouting:  "Do  not 
let  your  ponies  wander  down  the 
canon  and  make  trails  for  the  Yel 
low-Eyes  to  see."  The  women 
worked  the  colored  beads  and  por 
cupine  quills,  chatted  with  each  oth- 

228 


The  Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

er,  or  built  discreet  romances  as 
fancy  dictated.  The  men  gambled, 
or  made  smoke-talks  by  the  night 
fires.  It  was  'the  Indian  time  of 
social  enjoyment. 

Restless  young  men  beat  up  the 
country  in  search  of  adventure;  and 
only  this  day  a  party  had  arrived 
with  Absaroke  scalps  which  they 
were  dancing  after  the  sun  had  gone. 
The  hollow  beat  of  the  tom-toms 
multiplied  against  the  sides  of  the 
canon,  together  with  the  wild  shriek 
ing  and  yelling  of  the  rejoicers;  but 
the  old  Fire  Eater  had  grown  weary 
of  dancing  scalps.  He  had  danced 
his  youthful  enthusiasm  away,  caring 
more  to  sit  by  his  lodge  fire  playing 
with  his  little  boy  or  passing  the 

pipe  with  men  who  could  remember 

229 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

the  days  which  were  better  than 
these — with  men  who  could  recall 
to  his  mind  the  ardor  of  his  lost 
youth.  Thus  he  sat  on  this  wild, 
whooping  night  with  old  Big  Hand 
by  his  side  to  smoke  his  talk,  and 
with  his  son  asleep  across  his  lap. 

"  Where  did  the  war-party  leave 
its  trail  as  it  came  to  the  lodges?" 
he  asked. 

Big  Hand  in  reply  said:  "The 
man  who  strikes  said  they  came  over 
the  mountains — that  the  snow  lay 
deep.  They  did  not  lead  up  from 
the  plains.  They  obeyed  the  chiefs. 
If  it  was  not  so,  the  camp-soldiers 
would  have  beaten  them  with  sticks. 
You  have  not  heard  the  women  or 
the  dogs  cry." 

"It  is  good,"  continued  the  Fire 

230 


The   Medicine-Fight  of  the   Chis-chis-cbasb 

Eater.  "  The  wagon-soldiers  will 
not  find  a  trail  on  the  high  hills. 
The  snow  would  stop  their  wheels. 
They  will  dream  that  the  Chis-chis- 
chash  were  made  into  birds  and 
have  flown  away."  The  Fire  Eater 
chuckled  as  he  loaded  his  pipe. 

Then  Big  Hand:  "  I  have  heard, 
brother,  that  ponies  passed  the  herd 
ers  at  the  mouth  of  the  canon  last 
smoke.  It  was  cold,  and  they  had 
their  robes  tight  over  their  heads. 
It  is  bad."  \  • 

"  Yes,  you  talk  straight.  It  is  bad 
for  the  pony-trails  to  show  below 
where  the  land  breaks.  Some  dog 
of  an  Absaroke  who  follows  the  Grey 
Fox  may  see  them.  Ponies  do  not 
go  to  live  in  the  hills  in  the  time  of 

snow.      The   ponies  will  not    travel 

231 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

straight,  as  the  herders  drive  them 
back.  They  will  understand.  With 
another  sun,  I  shall  call  the  council. 
It  will  talk  the  herders'  eyes  open. 
The  young  men  have  closed  ears  in 
these  days.  The  cold  makes  their 
bones  stiff.  Brother,  when  we  were 
young  we  could  see  a  horse  pass  in 
the  night.  We  could  smell  him. 
We  could  tell  if  he  had  a  man  on 
his  back." 

Big  Hand  gave  wise  consideration 
to  his  companion's  statement,  saying 
it  was  as  he  spoke.  "Brother,  those 
big  horses  which  we  took  from  the 
pony-soldiers  run  badly  in  the  herd. 
They  gather  in  a  bunch  and  run 
fast.  They  go  over  the  herders  when 
they  see  the  valley.  They  will  do 

nothing  unless  you  strike  them  over 

232 


The  Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chasb 

the  head.      They  are  fools  like  their 
white  riders  were." 

So  the  old  men  gravely  passed  the 
pipe  over  the  little  things  of  life, 
which  to  them  bore  all  their  interest 
in  the  world.  The  squaw  combed 
her  hair  and  from  time  to  time  put 
fresh  sticks  on  the  fire.  After  a 
while  the  boy  woke  up  and  stretched 
himself  cubbishly  across  his  father's 
knees.  The  ancient  one  gave  him  a 
piece  of  fresh  meat,  which  he  held 
in  both  hands  as  he  gnawed  it, 
smearing  his  chubby  face  with  grease. 
Having  devoured  his  morsel  he 
blinked  sleepily,  and  the  old  Indian 
tucked  him  away  in  the  warm  re 
cesses  of  his  old  buffalo-robe  couch, 
quite  naked,  as  it  was  their  custom  to 
sleep  during  the  winter  nights.  Long 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

sat  the  smokers,  turning  their  tongues 
over  youthful  remembrances,  until 
Big  Hand  arose  and  drawing  his  robe 
about  him,  left  the  lodge. 

The  Fire  Eater  removed  the  small 
buckskin  bag  which  contained  his 
little  brown  bat's  skin  from  his 
scalp-lock  and  smoked  to  it  saying: 
"Keep  the  big  horses  from  running 
down  the  canon — keep  the  eyes  of 
the  herders  open  while  I  sleep — keep 
the  little  boy  warm — keep  the  bad 
spirits  outside  the  lodge  after  the 
fire  can  no  longer  see  them."  With 
these  devotions  concluded,  he  put 
the  relic  of  the  protection  of  the 
Good  Gods  in  his  war-bag  which 
hung  on  his  resting-mat  over  his 
head.  Undressing,  he  buried  him 
self  in  his  buffalo  robes.  The  fire 

234 


The   Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

died  down,  the  tom-toms  and  sing 
ing  in  the  adjoining  lodges  quieted 
gradually,  and  the  camp  slept.  All 
was  still,  and  it  was  bitter  cold  out 
side,  though  the  Chis-chis-chash  lay 
snugly  under  their  hairy  rugs,  draw 
ing  them  over  their  heads,  shutting 
out  the  world  of  'spirits  and  sound 
and  cold. 

In  the  ceaseless  round  of  time  the 
night  was  departing  to  the  westward, 
when  as  though  it  were  in  a  dream 
the  old  warrior  was  conscious  of 
noise.  His  waking  sense  was  stirred. 
Rapid,  frosty  crackling  of  snow 
ground  by  horse's  hoofs  came  through 
the  crevices  of  his  covering.  All 
unusual,  he  sat  up  with  a  savage 
bang,  as  it  were,  and  bent  a  stiff  ear 
to  the  darkness.  His  senses  were 


The   Way  of  an  Indian 

electric,  but  the  convolutions  of  his 
brain  were  dead.  A  rifle  shot,  far 
away  but  unmistakable.  Others  fol 
lowed;  they  came  fast.  But  not  until 
the  clear  notes  of  a  bugle  blazed 
their  echoing  way  up  the  rock  walls 
did  he,  the  Fire  Eater,  think  the 
truth.  He  made  the  lodge  shake 
with  the  long  yell  of  war.  He  did 
the  things  of  a  lifetime  now  and  he 
did  them  in  a  trained,  quick  way. 
He  shoved  his  feet  into  his  mocca 
sins  and  did  no  more  because  of  the 
urgency  of  the  case ;  then  he  reached 
for  his  rifle  and  belt  and  stood  in 
the  dark  lodge  aroused.  His  sleep 
was  gone  but  he  did  not  compre 
hend.  Listening  for  the  briefest  of 
moments,  he  heard  amid  the  yelping 

of  his  own  people  the  dull,  resonant 

236 


The  Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

roar  which  he  knew  was  the  white 
man's  answer. 

Fired  into  a  maddened  excite 
ment  he  snatched  up  his  precious 
boy,  and  seizing  a  robe  ran  out  of 
the  lodge  followed  by  his  squaw. 
Overhead  the  sky  was  warming  but 
the  canon  was  blue  dark.  Every 
moment  brought  the  shots  and  roar 
nearer.  Plunging  through  the  snow 
with  his  burden,  the  Fire  Eater  ran 
up  a  rocky  draw  which  made  into 
the  main  canon.  He  had  not  gone 
many  arrow-flights  of  distance  before 
the  rushing  storm  of  the  pony-sol 
diers  swept  past  his  deserted  lodge. 
Bullets  began  to  whistle  about  him, 
and  glancing  back  he  saw  the  black 
form  of  his  squaw  stagger  and  lie 
slowly  down  in  the  snow.  He  had, 

237 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

by  this  time,  quite  recovered  the 
calm  which  comes  to  the  tired-out 
man  when  tumult  overtakes  him. 
Putting  the  boy  down  on  a  robe  be 
hind  a  rock,  and  standing  naked  in 
the  frosty  air  he  made  his  magazine 
gun  blaze  until  empty;  then  pick 
ing  the  boy  up  ran  on  higher  up  the 
rocks  until  he  was  on  the  table  land 
of  the  top  of  the  canon.  Here  he 
resumed  his  shooting,  but  the  dark 
ness  and  distance  made  it  difficult 
to  see.  The  noise  of  the  fight  clat 
tered  and  clanged  up  from  the  depths 
to  him  and  echoed  down  from  above 
where  the  charge  had  gone.  Other 
Indians  joined  him  and  they  poured 
their  bullets  into  the  pony-soldiers. 
The  Bad  Gods  had  whispered  to 

the    Yellow-Eyes;    they    had    made 

238 


He  made  his   magazine  gun   blaze   until  empty." 


The   Medicine -Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

them  see  under  the  snow.  The 
Chis-chis-chash  were  dead  men,  but 
they  would  take  many  with  them  to 
the  spirit-land.  The  Fire  Eater  felt 
but  a  few  cartridges  in  his  belt  and 
knew  that  he  must  use  them  spar 
ingly.  The  little  boy  sat  crying  on 
the  buffalo  robe.  Holding  his  smok 
ing  rifle  in  one  hand,  he  passed  the 
other  over  his  scalp-lock.  The  bat- 
skin  medicine  was  not  there.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  Good  Gods 
had  given  it  to  him,  back  in  his 
youth,  did  he  find  himself  without  it. 
A  nameless  terror  overcame  him.  He 
was  a  truly  naked  man  in  the  snow, 
divested  of  the  protection  of  body 
and  soul. 

He     meditated     long     before     he 
reached    down    and   gathered  up  his 

239 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

offspring.  Carefully  wrapping  up 
the  wailing  infant,  he  handed  it  to  a 
squaw  who  stood  near  shivering  and 
moaning  wildly.  "Stay  here  and 
hold  my  boy.  I  am  going  back." 

Shoving  cartridges  into  his  maga 
zine,  he  made  his  way  down,  the  light 
snow  flying  before  him.  Rounding 
the  rocks  he  could  see  down  into  the 
main  canon;  see  the  pony-soldiers 
and  their  Indian  allies  tearing  down 
and  burning  the  lodges.  The  yellow 
glare  of  many  fires  burned  brightly 
in  contrast  with  the  cold  blue  of  the 
snow.  He  scanned  narrowly  the 
place  where  his  own  lodge  had  been 
and  saw  it  fall  before  many  hands  to 
be  taken  to  their  fires.  With  raised 
shoulders  and  staring  eyes  he  stood 

aghast.     He  drunk  in  the  desecration 

240 


The  Medicine -Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

in  all  its  awful  significance.  The 
bat's  skin — the  hand  of  the  Good 
Gods — was  removed  from  him ;  his 
shadow  was  as  naked  as  his  back. 

In  the  snow  a  hundred  yards  be 
low  him  lay  his  young  squaw,  the 
mother  of  his  boy,  and  she  had  not 
moved  since  she  lay  down. 

As  the  pony-soldiers  finally  saw 
the  stark  figure  of  the  Indian  among 
the  rocks  they  sent  a  shower  of  bulr 
lets  around  him.  He  had  no  medi 
cine  ;  the  Bad  Gods  would  direct  the 
bullets  to  his  breast.  He  turned  and 
ran  frantically  away. 

The  last  green-grass  had  seen  the 
beplumed  chief  with  reddened  battle- 
ax  leading  a  hundred  swift  warriors 
over  the  dying  pony-soldiers,  but 

now  the  cold,  blue  snow  looked  on 

241 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

a  naked  man  running  before  bullets, 
with  his  medicine  somewhere  in  the 
black  smoke  which  began  to  hang 
like  a  pall  over  the  happy  winter 
camp  of  the  bravest  Indians.  The 
ebb  and  flow  of  time  had  fattened 
and  thinned  the  circumstances  of  the 
Fire  Eater's  life  many  times,  but  it 
had  never  taken  his  all  before.  It 
had  left  him  nothing  but  his  boy  and 
a  nearly  empty  gun.  It  had  placed 
him  between  the  fire  of  the  soldiers' 
rifles  and  the  cruel  mountain  winds 
which  would  pinch  his  heart  out. 

With  his  boy  at  his  breast  he  flew 
along  the  rim-rock  like  a  crow,  hunt 
ing  for  shelter  from  bullets  and  wind. 
He  longed  to  expend  his  remaining 
cartridges  where  each  would  put 

out  a  white  man's  fire.      Meanwhile 

242 


The   Medicine -Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

recovering  from  their  surprise,  the 
Indians  had  gathered  thickly  on  the 
heights  and  fought  stiffly  back.  Being 
unable  to  follow  them,  the  pony-sol 
diers  drew  back,  but  as  they  retreated 
they  left  the  village  blazing,  which 
the  Chis-chis-chash  could  not  pre 
vent.  Their  rifles  had  only  handed 
them  over  to  the  hungry  winter. 

The  Fire  Eater  sat  muffled  on  a 
ledge,  firing  from  time  to  time,  and 
anxiously  scanning  his  shots.  The 
cold  made  him  shake  and  he  could 
not  hold  his  rifle  true.  His  old,  thin 
blood  crept  slowly  through  his  veins, 
and  the  child  cried  piteously.  His 
fires  were  burning  low ;  even  the 
stimulus  of  hate  no  longer  stirred 
him  as  he  looked  down  on  the  white 
men  who  had  burned  his  all  and 

243 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

shot  his  wife  and  were  even  then 
spattering  his  den  in  the  rocks  with 
lead.  He  gave  up,  overpowered  by 
the  situation.  With  infinite  diffi 
culty  he  gathered  himself  erect  on 
his  stiffened  joints  and  took  again 
his  burden  in  his  trembling  arms. 
Standing  thus  on  the  wind-swept 
height,  with  the  bullets  spotting  the 
rocks  around  him,  he  extended  his 
right  hand  and  besought  the  black, 
eddying  smoke  to  give  him  back  his 
bat-skin;  he  begged  the  spirits  of 
the  air  to  bring  it  to  him.  He 
shouted  his  harsh  pathos  at  a  wild 
and  lonely  wind,  but  there  was  no 
response. 

Then  off  through  the  withering 
cold  and  powdery  snow  moved  the 
black  figure  of  despair  tottering 

244 


He  shouted  his  harsh  pathos  at  a  wild  and  lonely 
but  there  was  no  response." 


The  Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

slowly  away  from  the  sound  of  rifles 
which  grew  fainter  at  each  step.  He 
chattered  and  mumbled,  half  to  him 
self,  half  to  the  unseen  influences 
of  nature,  while  the  child  moaned 
weakly  under  his  clutched  robe. 
When  he  could  but  barely  hear  the 
noises  of  the  fight,  he  made  his  way 
down  into  the  canon  where  he 
shortly  came  upon  a  group  of  his 
tribesmen  who  had  killed  a  pony  and 
were  roasting  pieces  over  a  log  fire. 
They  were  mostly  women  and  chil 
dren,  or  old,  old  men  like  himself. 
More  to  note  than  their  drawn  and 
leathery  faces  was  the  speechless  terror 
brooding  over  all.  Their  minds  had 
not  digested  their  sudden  fate.  If  the 
young  warriors  broke  before  the  guns 

of  the  pony-soldiers,  worse  yet  might 

245 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

overtake  them,  though  the  wind 
swept  table  lands  dismayed  them 
equally  with  the  bullets.  Munching 
their  horse -meat,  clutching  their 
meager  garments,  they  elbowed  about 
the  fires  saying  little.  In  their 
homeless  helplessness  their  souls  dead 
ened.  They  could  not  divine  the 
immediate  future.  Unlike  the  young 
warriors  whose  fires  flashed  brighter 
as  the  talons  of  Death  reached  most 
fiercely  for  them,  they  shuddered  and 
crouched. 

In  the  light  of  day  they  could  see 
how  completely  the  ravishing  fire 
had  done  its  work.  Warriors  came 
limping  back  from  the  battle,  their 
robes  dyed  with  a  costly  vermilion. 
They  sat  about  doing  up  their  wounds 

in  filthy  rags,   or  sang   their  death- 

246 


The   Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

songs  amid  the  melancholy   wailing 
of  the  squaws. 

Having  warmed  himself  and  quiet 
ed  the  boy,  the  Fire  Eater  stalked 
down  the  canon,  past  the  smoking 
poles,  stopping  here  and  there  to 
pick  up  fragments  of  skins  which  he 
used  to  swaddle  the  boy.  Return 
ing  warriors  said  the  soldiers  were 
going  away,  while  they  themselves 
were  coming  back  to  get  warm. 
Hearing  this,  the  old  man  stalked 
down  the  creek  toward  the  place 
where  his  lodge  had  been.  He  found 
nothing  but  a  smouldering  heap  of 
charred  robes  and  burnt  dried  meat. 
With  a  piece  of  lodge  pole  he  poked 
away  the  ashes,  searching  for  his 
precious  medicine  and  never  ceasing 

to  implore  the  Good  Gods  to  restore 

247 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

it  to  him.  At  last,  dropping  the 
pole,  he  walked  up  the  side  canon 
to  the  place  where  his  wife  had 
fallen.  He  found  her  lying  there. 
Drawing  aside  the  robe  he  noticed  a 
greenish  pallor  and  fled  from  Death. 

Finding  the  ponies  tethered  to 
gether  by  their  necks,  he  caught 
them,  and  improvising  packs  out  of 
old  robes  and  rawhide  filled  them 
with  half-burnt  dried  meat.  With 
these  he  returned  to  the  fires,  where 
he  constructed  a  rude  shelter  for  the 
coming  night.  The  boy  moaned 
and  cried  through  the  shivering  dark 
ness  as  the  old  Fire  Eater  rocked 
him  in  his  arms  to  a  gibberish  of  de 
spairing  prayer. 

Late  in  the  night,  the  scouts  came 
in  saying  that  the  walking-soldiers 

248 


The   Medicine-Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

were  coming,  whereat  the  Indians 
gathered  their  ponies  and  fled  over 
the  snow.  The  young  men  stayed 
behind  and  from  the  high  cliffs 
fought  back  the  soldiers.  Many 
weak  persons  in  the  retreating  band 
sat  down  and  passed  under  the  spell 
of  the  icy  wind.  The  Fire  Eater 
pressed  along  carrying  his  rifle  and 
boy,  driving  his  ponies  in  a  herd 
with  others.  It  was  too  cold  for 
him  to  dare  to  ride  a  horse.  The 
crying  boy  shivered  under  the  robe. 
The  burden -bearer  mumbled  the 
troubled  thoughts  of  his  mind:  "My 
mystery  from  the  Good  Gods  is 
gone;  they  have  taken  it;  they  gave 
it  to  the  fire.  I  am  afraid.  The 
bad  spirits  of  the  wind  will  get  under 

my  robe.      They  will  enter  the  body 

249 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

of  my  boy.  Oh!  little  brown  bat, 
come  sit  on  my  hand  I  Do  not  let 
them  take  the  boy  ! " 

Hour  after  hour  he  plodded  along 
in  the  snow.  His  body  was  warmed 
by  his  exertions  and  the  boy  felt  cold 
against  his  flesh.  He  noted  this,  and 
with  the  passing  moments  the  little 
frame  grew  more  rigid  and  more 
cold  until  it  was  as  a  stone  image  in 
the  Fire  Eater's  arms.  Stopping  with 
his  back  to  the  wind,  he  undid  the 
robe  and  fingered  his  burden.  He 
knew  that  the  shadow  had  gone; — 
knew  that  the  bad  spirits  had  taken 
it  away.  "Oh!  Bad  Gods,  oh! 
Evil  Spirits  of  the  night,  come  take 
my  shadow.  You  have  stolen  my 
boy;  you  have  put  out  my  lodge 

fire;   put  out  the  fire  of  my  body! 

250 


The  Medicine -Fight  of  the  Chis-chis-chash 

Take  vengeance  on  me!  I  am  de 
serted  by  the  Good  Gods!  I  am 
ready  to  go !  I  am  waiting !  r 

Thus  stood  in  the  bleak  night  this 
victim  of  his  lost  medicine;  the 
fierce  and  cruel  mysteries  of  the 
wind  tugged  at  his  robe  and  flapped 
his  long  hair  about  his  head.  In 
dians  coming  by  pushed  and  pulled 
him  along.  Two  young  men  made 
it  a  duty  to  aid  the  despairing 
chief.  They  dragged  him  until 
they  reached  a  canon  where  fires 
had  been  lighted,  around  which  were 
gathered  the  fugitives.  The  peo 
ple  who  had  led  him  had  supposed 
that  his  mind  was  wandering  under 
suffering  or  wounds.  As  he  sank 
by  the  side  of  the  blaze  he  dropped 

the   robe    and    laid    the    stiffened 

251 


The  Way  of  an  Indian 

body  of  his  frozen  boy  across  his 
knees.  The  others  peered  for  a 
time  with  frightened  glances  at  the 
dead  body,  and  then  with  cries 
of  "Dead!  dead!"  ran  away,  go 
ing  deeper  down  the  canon.  The 
Fire  Eater  sat  alone,  waiting  for  the 
evil  spirits  which  lurked  out  among 
the  pine  trees  to  come  and  take  him. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  the  spirit-land 
where  the  Cheyennes  of  his  home 
and  youth  were  at  peace  in  warm 
valleys,  talking  and  eating. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

-    V>n  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed'books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'O  LD 


1ARYLOAN 

Mny  i  fi  1990 

UNIV.  OF  CALIF.,  BERK. 


4   7HOAM7 


LD  2lA-60m-3,'65 
(F2336slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


